


Through the Fog (Part 1)

by waskonedo



Series: Through the Fog [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Action & Romance, Alcohol, Angst, Castles, Coming of Age, Early Unreliable Narrator, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fencing, Kuraigana Island, Mihawk finally gets a backstory, Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Pre-Strawhats Mihawk, Shamelessly self-indulgent, Shikkearu Kingdom, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Swordfighting, Telepathy, Waka Poetry, Young Mihawk, red-eyed Mihawk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:16:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 112,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14226933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waskonedo/pseuds/waskonedo
Summary: Mihawk moved to his castle on Kuraigana Island, the former home of the Shikkearu Kingdom, last year. Everyone knew that the powerful Shikkearu family had been extinguished in the war, but one girl secretly survived and has decided to come home and claim her kingdom.Canon-timeline compliant, except that Mihawk came to Kuraigana Island at age 22. This story begins 18 years before the Strawhat Pirates set sail.READ ALONG chapter by chapter with me on tumblr! https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/Ttf_Navigation





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 日本語 available: [霧の随に - Through the Fog (Kyoto version alpha) -](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15572763) by [Birdie_Birdy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdie_Birdy/pseuds/Birdie_Birdy)



> One Piece geography reference: http://khooz.com/
> 
> One Piece timeline reference: https://thelibraryofohara.com/2018/05/14/one-piece-timeline/ (This story begins in the year 1504.)
> 
> Thank you to my friend Birdie_Birdy for all your help with this story! Please see Birdie_Birdy's Japanese version of the story, 霧の随に!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1, Chapter 1  
> Join my crew!

Kasumi snarled as the sludge sucked at her boots. The mud was thicker than she remembered. The muck pulled at her soles as she flexed her calf against the vacuum of the ground. Stubbornly, she pulled her foot from the sinking shoreline and struggled forward. Slogging through this nasty terrain was her first step toward independence and taking back her family’s name.

Independence became an afterthought as she felt Henri clasp her wrist while she struggled in the mud. He was here, as always, to guide her into learning something useful, except this time, he was trying to change her mind.

“ _Hime-sama_ , look around. You can’t live here now. This place is but a crumbled fraction of what you knew. Return with me and we can think of a better plan.”

“Henri, this is my home. Whether it’s mud, or brimstone, or quicksand,” she heaved, “it’s all I have left. It’s my birthright.” She pulled at the strand of thorny vines wrapped around her ankle and trudged onto the firmer ground of the upper shoreline. “Doubting me now is an insult to my father,” she added, hoping her words would sting enough to remind him of his place. 

“Hime-sama,” Henri hissed, fixing his eyes on the trees along the far side of the muddy shore.

She dropped her snarl and followed Henri’s gaze. Through the mist she saw large, human-sized creatures wobble towards her. “Humandrills,” she murmured through clenched teeth.

 _“Who is your leader? Show yourself!”_ She silently projected her thoughts through the air, so that both Henri and the humandrills could hear her.  A hulking gray primate materialized from the fog, wearing a plumed helmet and holding a T-shaped sword before him.

“ _Are you the king of the humandrills?”_ she asked voicelessly, “ _I am Kasumi, daughter of King Shikkearu Ryota. I request your peace in exchange for food and shelter.”_

The head monkey continued to draw closer, drawing behind him an uncertain number of wary beasts.

Her wavering voice betraying her nervousness, she screamed, “I said, I am Princess Shikkearu Kasumi! I offer you food and shelter in exchange for peace!”

Henri drew his sabre and lunged into a ready stance. The lead humandrill waddled closer, tilting his head like a bird, assessing the new arrivals.

Suddenly, the primate froze in place, viewing a flash of memories: the former kingdom, the sensation of fullness, sleeping without fear, joyful play. This human’s face—her voice—aroused his memories of the time before. Could it be her?

The lead humandrill threw his forehead to the ground. Yes! This was the girl he had known so long ago! The one who brought cakes and fruit! The one who stroked his chin and smoothed his mats. The troupe of humandrills followed the lead of their king, offering a deep bow to the daughter only a few remembered.

“ _Mon dieu!_ ” Henri gasped. Had they truly remembered the little princess from so long ago?

_“Takeo-kun, is it you? I’ve returned to live here again. Let me stay in peace on this island and you’ll be rewarded! I’m home! You’ll never suffer again!!”_

Henri tightened his jaw, anticipating a refusal from the feeble-minded animals. He was certain they’d reject the sudden proposal from the princess. She had neither the poise nor the power of her father, though she certainly had his stubbornness.

\----

Dracule Mihawk awoke with a grunt as the rowboat drew near to Kuraigana Island. The sensation of an approaching stranger stung his mind like the scent of fire. Who would be arriving on his island in the middle of the night? His haki told him that it was a small boat carrying two people, and soon his curiosity led him to rise from his bed and approach the southern window. His eyes drew tight as he focused into the darkness.

A rowboat, containing two persons, a large canvas sack, and a lantern bobbled in the southeastern wake. He watched as they advanced toward the shore, the boat eventually lodging into the thick mud on the shore. Who were these intruders? Did they not know where they had landed? Any fool naive enough to step upon his shore wasn’t worthy of his courtesy. Still… his curiosity was greater than his indignation, and he observed intently as a young woman stepped from the boat onto the sinking terrain, followed by a hulking older man.

He smirked as the humandrills approached her in the darkness. He’d seen firsthand how they reacted to a strange human violating their territory. The woman held her position, eyes closed, as the man drew his sabre. Mihawk snorted; a common swordsman stood no chance against the monkeys.

Eager to see the fight, Mihawk grew puzzled as the humandrills stopped their advance and bowed at the woman’s feet. The man who accompanied her looked on in astonishment. The monkeys Mihawk had taken over a week to bring to heel were already deferring to this stranger? He watched them back away into the trees, leaving the man and woman alone on the shoreline.

The man brought his hands to the sides of the woman’s face, begging her to listen. Mihawk read his lips as he pleaded with her. “Are you certain?” She twisted up her face and shouted something that took him aback. The man relinquished. 

Mihawk watched with interest as the man unloaded the large sack from the boat. They established a small tent on the far southeastern corner of the island, which was the farthest from his. The young woman bid goodbye to the man, who bowed even more deeply than the humandrills had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/  
> This chapter's post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/179413884791/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-1
> 
> The first chapters are going to be pretty short to set the scene. Don't worry; this ISN'T EVEN MY FINAL FORM!


	2. The Sunken Castle

Mihawk awoke early the next morning, eager to investigate the visitor. Skipping his usual breakfast, he grabbed a hunk of bread and headed to the topmost tower of the castle. The air was cool and crisp, and the dense early morning fog was giving way to the usual hazy sunrise. He didn’t mind the continuous fog that covered the island; his eyes were sensitive to bright sunlight. The orangey glow of the daytime and the purplish gleam of the night of Kuraigana Island were two of the main reasons he’d made it his home. He settled into the wide windowsill and narrowed his eyes to watch the tent on the southeastern corner.

\----

Kasumi emerged from the tent as the light broke on the horizon. She hadn’t slept well. Between shivering in the crisp air and wondering if the humandrills had truly accepted her offer, she didn’t find much opportunity for rest. And of course, there was also the warning Henri had given her about the man who was rumored to live on this island, the murderous Shichibukai, Dracule Mihawk. She had dismissed it as idle gossip; anyone powerful enough to become a Shichibukai would surely find a better place to live. The only standing structure on the island was likely crumbling and dilapidated. Henri was probably only trying to scare her into going back. Besides, if she did encounter him, she was certain she could convince him of her right to this land, and failing that, she’d make her last stand against him. She was so strong, stronger than she’d ever been, and she had just brought down some of the biggest bounties in Water Seven.

She stretched backward into the sunrise, the warmth spreading over her chilly skin while she surveyed the island she’d once known so well. Obviously, her father’s castle was gone, twice-consumed, once by fire and again by the swamp. Broken fragments of the formerly-imposing palace were strewn about, massive stone blocks disappearing into the mud. She could make out the structure’s original footprint and could barely see the stone façade that used to bear her family name peeking out from the reeds. Kasumi sighed. Restoring this castle would be out of the question.

Perhaps she could hire some laborers from Water Seven to build a new castle. She could do some more bounty hunting and gradually rebuild the home of the Shikkearu Kingdom. For now, even if she could just construct four standing walls, she’d have enough foothold to survive. Once she brought in some money, she could expand her castle, grow her influence and wealth, and finally begin restoring her family line.  

Waking from her daydream, she finished stretching and adjusted her clothes. She grabbed her weapons, water canteen, and some snacks and set off to explore the island. Her cutlass and flail were all she had left from her old life; with Henri’s training, she’d improved her skills a great deal over the past four years. Both weapons carried securely on her left hip, she could use them simultaneously to fend off and overwhelm any opponent. Combined with her natural Shikkearu abilities, she figured that her skills made her nearly invincible.  

She began trekking northward, to the higher ground where her family’s castle once stood. As the main branch of the Shikkearu family, theirs was a much larger and more elegant estate than her uncle Hiroshi’s austere white manor on the northwestern side of the island. Kasumi had visited it only a few times when she was just a toddler, before the war began. Once the feud between Hiroshi and her father, Ryota, had strengthened into a war, her movement upon the island had been restricted. But now, there was no one to stop her.

Scaling the fallen stones of her old home, she made her way toward the training grounds she’d used as a child. The path she’d known had long-since been reclaimed by the swamp. Rusted armor and weapons had become footholds for the shallow mangrove roots that grew in dense thickets on the southern side of the island. Passing by some armor that bore her family’s crest, her head spun away in disgust, trying to shake the thought that it could have belonged to someone she knew. Her father’s forces had not been as large as Hiroshi’s, but unlike his brother’s, Ryota’s soldiers were loyal, born and bred into the Shikkearu family as servants ready to give their lives for their master. Hiroshi had greater forces, but they were only mercenaries and hirelings. So many had died; she lived on with the burden of knowing that she had to honor their sacrifice. 

She slid on the algae that covered nearly anything touched by the tide and pulled herself over some rocks near the edge of a large clearing. A ring of broken columns marked the outline of the former training grounds where the clangs of swords once rang out across the swamp. Although claimed by mangroves and reeds, she could still picture the field as it was then, with Henri at his usual post near the eastern gate.  

Henri had trained her in combat, as he had all four of the Shikkearu children, as well as his own two sons. As her father’s best commander and most loyal friend, he’d directed all aspects of the children’s physical training. Her older siblings had inherited her grandparents’ best weapons; being the youngest by far, Kasumi had received the flail and cutlass almost as an afterthought.

Lost in memories, she trudged along the perimeter of the training grounds. Stepping over fallen columns and rusted armor brought back reminders of the power of Henri’s blows, the frustration of being defeated by him physically—and by her family mentally. She was sure she could surpass any of them, eventually. She needed to get stronger.

\----

A sudden beam of sunlight pierced Mihawk’s pupils. It was already midmorning and he’d neglected his training in favor of observing the stranger! Pressing his palms into the limestone windowsill, he sprang forward and descended the stairs to the circular landing on the second floor.

The wind was colder every day now, he thought, as his hair whipped in the breeze. The island had only two seasons: a mild, humid summer and a bitter, wet winter. Apart from the humandrills, birds, and snakes, he was its only inhabitant. He’d found the island—and its vacant castle—to be a perfect fit for a man who wanted to be left alone.

Focusing his eyes through the trees and fog, he could see the young woman walking along the broken columns of the flat circular area to the south. He supposed she was in her late teens, solidly built and graceful, with a confident stride. She carried a cutlass and a flail on her left hip and wore canvas pants and a long coat marred by a salt line at the edge of a mud stained hem. 

He lost her briefly among the tree cover, but could tell her location by the eruptions of birds as she progressed through the vegetation. It would take only a fraction of his effort to kill her in an instant; what a fool she was to encroach on his land! He sprang to the eastern extreme of his castle to gain a better viewpoint. The girl was tracing a circle around the area where the storks gathered in the evenings.        

In the year he had lived on this island, Mihawk had never seen another person get so close to his home. He was offended, but intrigued—entertainment for him was so hard to come by. He descended from the landing, crossed the short bridge over the swampy moat, and silently crept closer to Kasumi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/  
> Let's talk about Kuraigana Island! Visit this chapter's post:  
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/179515053606/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-2


	3. The Way Things Used to Be

The Shikkearu princess perched on the stump of a toppled column and took a swig from her canteen. There were once bushes with edible fruit near the training ground, but the swamp was so overgrown that she couldn’t remember where they were. She should’ve packed more food.

She tossed some rusty swords and axes into small piles on the edges of the arena; this area would need to be clear for her training with Henri when he arrived Thursday. After that, he could help her explore Hiroshi’s castle and see if it was salvageable. Of course, Henri would be expecting her to beg him to take her back, to rescue her from this godforsaken swamp, but she’d stand firm. She’d been able to convince him to take her here; going back to Water Seven was out of the question.

The sun had risen overhead and she stopped piling the rusted metal to eat the remainder of the crackers she’d stashed in her coat pocket. The wind had picked up and seemed to be coming from several directions at once. The sound of movement in the woods caught her attention; she briefly thought that she saw a tall figure dart through the tangle of trees, but instead, a small troupe of humandrills appeared.

_“I’m sorry, I don’t yet have anything for you. Wait a few more days and I’ll have food to share.”_

A chestnut-colored humandrill cautiously approached her. Mihawk watched from the trees as the woman slowly extended her arm and opened her palm. The creature’s eyes darkened; it sniffed suspiciously and then drew its face perilously close to hers. Without warning, it sprang its hairy arms around the young woman and buried its head in her shoulder.

“Choco-chan!” the princess cried. “I thought you had forgotten me!”

\----

Mihawk’s face drew tight with confusion as he stood camouflaged within the brush. What did she mean “forgotten” her? As far as he knew, there hadn’t been humans on this island since four years ago, when all the former inhabitants had been killed in a vicious war. He ought to know; he’d spent his first week in the castle cleaning out the skeletal remnants that hadn’t been already consumed by the swamp. To think that anyone had survived…

The girl released the monkey from her embrace and stood facing it. A heavy gust blew through the thicket and sent her ponytail over her head, causing them both to laugh easily and gently. Mihawk had sensed the changing air pressure earlier this morning; every burst of wind seemed to argue with its predecessor.

She playfully struck at the beast, who responded with a facetious pose. They circled each other and the monkey brought its rusted spear down swiftly towards her legs. She hopped over the swing, deftly bringing her cutlass to its chin as she flew past with a smile.

“You think I would fall for that?” she teased.

The good-natured sparring match continued, the girl light and quick, the female baboon powerful but slow. It was obvious to Mihawk that she’d been trained in North Blue swordfighting style; her methodical and predictable footwork was exactly the kind of technique that bored him to no end. The monkey briefly held her at bay, but the young woman ended the match with a sidestep and a charge, leading to a giggling tackle.

“Ridiculous,” he scoffed. Who was this amateur swordswoman wrestling with monkeys? What was she was doing here? Hadn’t she heard of him? He was only 23, but he already held the title of World’s Strongest Swordsman, not to mention one of the most fearsome Shichibukai. For the past few years, he’d made his name as the most misanthropic and deadliest custodian of the Grand Line.

Still, he’d been growing bored with newcomers as of late; he hadn’t had a suitable opponent since Akagami set out on his own four years ago. Nothing satisfied his craving like the sparring matches with his old rival. Bringing his body to its limits—exerting himself to the fullest—was a pleasure he feared he’d never feel again. Having trained most of his life to control his passions and pains left him often feeling ambivalent about any experience at all. He decided to observe this insect a while longer.

\----

Choco-chan followed behind as Kasumi trudged away from the training grounds. In her childhood, there had been a series of bridges over the swamp that connected the scattered patches of dry land. Once the war began, though, her family had been consumed by training and strategy discussions; the bridges were trampled by soldiers; her only playmate had been Sachiko, the stable girl.

Sachi’s family had worked in the Shikkearu family stables for generations. Although she was a few years older than Kasumi, the girls were always together when chores and training were finished. Their laughter would ring out in the soupy orange air as they skipped over the bridges together, sometimes wrestling in the mud, sometimes twisting together vine headbands for their favorite humandrills—but never venturing north of the training grounds.

The lands between the two castles on Kuraigana were patrolled day and night by soldiers from both sides who would love nothing more than to teach two careless girls a lesson. Sachi’s family had taken their duty to the Shikkearu family seriously, but the girls’ friendship meant more than their obligation required. To the very end, they did everything they could to protect the family.

Kasumi’s feet faltered upon realizing that this was the path she’d taken on her last night on Kuraigana Island. She’d watched wide-eyed as her siblings and father solemnly donned their armor and rode off with Henri and his sons. She hadn’t known then what had transpired to cause this particular night to become a tragedy. All she knew was that she hadn’t seen fear like this in her mother’s eyes before, and the humandrills were screeching like she’d never imagined they could.  

Her mother had hidden her in the pantry under a sack of barley, whispering, “Stay quiet as long as you can. If soldiers come in, escape through the kitchen door and hide in the mangroves.” The idea had seemed preposterous; Kasumi knew that her father was stronger than his brother. No matter how difficult the battle, her father would come home and sweep her up from the pantry floor, telling her that Hiroshi was dead and everything would be back to normal.

The rest of her memories of that night seemed like a story someone else had told her. She knew that the front door was breached; she’d heard her mother’s screams silenced abruptly; she’d smelled smoke and metal. Then silence. After a few minutes, footsteps hurriedly approached and the door was flung open, blinding her. It was Henri.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and rasped, “ _Hime-sama_ , come. We’re escaping the island.”

“What about everyone else?”

He ignored the question. “I have orders from your father to take you to safety.”

Scooping the girl into his arms, he fled the kitchen and began to dash across the courtyard, nimbly carrying Kasumi over the bridges east of the castle. Ryota’s soldiers were battling Hiroshi’s all over the island, and the enemy troops were closer than they’d ever been before. Humandrills screamed and ran amok in the torchlight.

Sachi stood alone in the flickering light, mouth agape, holding her sword at her side as Henri and the princess passed by.

 _“Sacchan!_ Come on! We’re escaping!”

Sachi turned and met her gaze. Her palms pressed against her belly, she began to bend forward at the waist, as if to run to greet her friend. Instead, time slowed as Kasumi noticed the arrow extending from the girl’s midsection; she tumbled forward into the muck, another life consumed by the battle for the unforgiving island.

Kasumi’s perception began to quicken, as if to make up for the lost milliseconds it had taken for her to realize what had happened. Sachi was only a child, same as she was! How could anyone dare to snuff out so young a life?! The princess screamed as Henri pressed her face into his chest, wet with sweat, blood, and swamp mire, as he carried away from the castle, which was beginning to glow and fill with smoke.

“Henri, put me down! I can run! I can fight!”

“No!” he huffed, “It’s easier this way.”  

Henri reached the eastern shore and placed the girl in a rowboat stowed within the reeds. She sat in shock, repeatedly pleading with him to wait on everyone else.

Henri grabbed her chin with a force she’d never felt from him before. _“Ohime-sama_ , listen to me. Your father’s orders were to rescue you and let everyone else fight. You must survive to carry on the name.”

“Of course I’ll survive! Where’s everyone else? Where’s mama and papa?”

 _“Petite_ , your father’s orders to me were his last words,” Henri replied softly, “I'll return tomorrow to see if the others survived.”

\----

Kasumi shivered. “If the others survived…” Well, they hadn’t. It had only been her and Henri, whose family had evacuated during the hazy weeks before the last battle. He’d taken her to his wife’s family home on Water Seven, and she’d stayed there until she could stand it no longer. Her entire existence meant nothing if she couldn’t revive her family name.  

Approaching the area of the swamp that used to house the stables, she tripped over a large mangrove root that had fed on the iron left behind by blood and weapons. Impulsively, she swung and it snapped, revealing a cache of bones and weapons beneath the surface of the swamp.

So many people had died back then! People she knew, people she didn’t know, her family, her servants, Henri’s son… could these bones belong to someone she once knew? Could it be Sachi? Kasumi grit her teeth. Did it even matter? Sachi was gone. Everything was gone. They were all bones now, and someday she would be too. Her lip curled as she kicked the skull, scattering it into lonely shards.

Cho-chan startled and ran away. “That’s fine,” she thought, “I’m not the same person as I was when she knew me.” She was much stronger now, too strong to need anyone else. Live or die, this venture was her last stand.

The falling sun drew shadows onto her back. It wouldn’t be long until the soggy and frigid winter of Kuraigana Island took over; she’d need better shelter by then. She resolved to explore that bastard Hiroshi’s castle tomorrow and see if it was salvageable.

She quickly returned to her tent on the southeastern shoreline. The wind tangled her hair as the heat and humidity settled into sundown. With some effort, she was able to create a cooking fire in the damp soil. She found some pickled vegetables and rice that Henri had packed and had a quick dinner. Crawling into her makeshift bed, she felt a small voice behind a wall in her mind: was this what she wanted? Mihawk, watching from a thicket only a short distance away, saw the campfire die and returned to his castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visit me at https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/  
> Learn about mangroves in this chapter's post. The more you know!  
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/179716826371/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-3


	4. The Standing Castle

Having rested much better her second night on the island, Kasumi resolved that today she’d take a more purposeful route than yesterday’s nostalgic wandering. After a quick breakfast, she gathered some supplies and began walking northwest towards Hiroshi’s empty castle, much farther than she had been allowed to venture alone as a child. The former paths had been lost to the swamp, but she reasoned that as long as she continued with the shore in view, she’d find the castle by mid-afternoon. 

A rustling noise stopped her suddenly, and Choco-chan hesitantly emerged from the vegetation. 

“I’m sorry I scared you yesterday. Wanna walk with me?”

The primate joined and followed her as she struggled through the mangroves and waded across tidal channels. The orange sky had begun to darken to a rusty gray and Kasumi sensed one of the familiar Kuraigana storms approaching. She was accustomed to the island’s volatile rainstorms, but she’d been hoping for a respite today. There was still quite a bit of distance to cover, and the earth grew soggier the further north she went. Hopping and sliding over the ground, she could just begin to see the towers of Hiroshi’s castle through the haze.

After several hours, her stomach insisted on a meal, and she plopped down on a stone block to rest before scrounging up some shrimp and small fish in the tide pools with Cho-chan. Their presence attracted a handful of humandrills who peered suspiciously through the trees.

“Here, take some. I won’t hurt you.”

She extended a bit of fish to the nervous monkeys who gathered around her, wondering which of them were survivors from the war and how many others had been born after she’d left. Her ancestors had tamed these beasts when the Shikkearu family arrived on the island generations ago; over the years they’d been adversaries, pets, friends, slaves, and soldiers for the humans who called this island home. 

It’d been her father’s intention to use them in the war against Hiroshi, but the proposition had been shot down by her siblings. The eldest son of the Shikkearu family, they reasoned, must prove himself powerful enough to win without resorting to the use of mercenaries like Hiroshi had. The Shikkearus’ vicious and hot-headed reputation was well known; Ryota had inherited the full measure. His strength alone should have crushed his brother as soon as the war began. If only that vile Hiroshi hadn’t tipped the scale with outsiders… 

“I guess he should've used the humandrills,” she thought, admiring the beasts’ muscular bodies as they milled around the clearing. Their strength, if not their intellect, may have been enough to prevent Hiroshi’s invasion that night. Her musing was interrupted by a firm tug on her coat. A young humandrill craned its body up to her knee, its eyes begging for a piece of her lunch. She held out her open palms: “I don’t have any more.”

The little humandrill began to slump away and Kasumi gently tugged its tail. The monkey turned around quickly as the princess threw her hands up and rolled sideways onto the mossy stone. A game somewhere between peek-a-boo and tag ensued, the young monkey growing bolder and wilder with every squeal. The playtime ended when Choco-chan abruptly barged in to defend the human, swatting away the baby with a hand to the chest. 

“Cho-chan, it’s alright. We’re just playing.” Kasumi raised her head to see the humandrills fixated on her. “Really, we’re just playing… I’m sorry.” 

She picked up her belongings and resumed her trek, reminding herself that she hadn’t come all this way just to play with monkeys. The air was wet and thick, and the terrain became more and more difficult to traverse as she approached the northwestern region. As the front of the castle came into view through the mangroves, Choco-chan became more and more reluctant to keep going forward. Opting to leave her behind, Kasumi walked to the edge of the treeline where Hiroshi’s moat still flowed around the white castle, contrasting against the darkened sky.

The princess was delighted! The castle seemed to be in decent repair, and the swamp hadn’t overtaken it. It would be so wonderful to have the entire castle to herself! Maybe she could move in tomorrow! Her excitement dimmed upon realizing that the castle’s drawbridge was up; she’d need to make a raft to cross the snake-filled moat. Still, if she hurried back to the tent, she could work on the raft today and cross tonight or tomorrow. She was impatient to start living the way she was meant to. After all, she was the last Shikkearu—she’d won. 

A flash of movement at the top of the castle tower caught her eye. Electricity crawled across her skin. The temperature would drop soon, stirring the warm and cool air of the island. This place made her uneasy. Stupid Hiroshi and his stupid war! 

\----

Standing on the threshold of the balcony, Mihawk saw the young woman react when his coat caught the whipping wind. If she’d seen him, then she was certainly bold, because she stood unfazed, staring directly at the castle. He’d considered confronting her when she had approached the moat, but had stopped himself, wondering if she might be a spy or some obvious trap. It had been almost a full day since this stranger had arrived, and he’d racked his mind trying to think of who had sent her and what their intentions were. A girl who hugged monkeys… 

He waited until she turned her back before entering the castle and watching from the tower window. She suddenly crashed her sword against the mangroves, easily uprooting the younger trees. Finally, she’d come for a fight! The corners of his mouth drew into a flat smile. She raged against the trees and stone ruins, slicing through soft vegetation with ease as her blade found the solid rock beneath. 

“Hiroshi! I’m here to reclaim this island!” she cried, almost wishing her uncle was alive to see just how strong she’d become. 

Mihawk scowled. Hiroshi? He’d seen that name on some objects when he first moved into the castle. Surely this woman was confused or crazy… or just a terrible spy.

The realization of what was happening swept over him with the same satisfaction he felt when his eyes focused over a hazy distance to create a picture few others could perceive. This girl, the humandrills, the servant man, Hiroshi… was she a Shikkearu descendant? The story unfolded delightfully. He’d heard that the Shikkearu family had been especially violent and dangerous, able to control others’ minds. He’d caught an interesting rabbit.

The rain that had been threatening all day finally began to douse the island, causing the usual translucent fog to transform into a gray veil. The young woman turned and dashed southward into the torrent. 

\----

Kasumi began to panic as the rain confused her sense of direction. She knew that she should head south, back to the tent, where food and dry clothes awaited her. She’d wasted too much time playing with the humandrills, daydreaming, and sparring with rocks. 

It was already late afternoon and the sun was descending. She sprang through the swamp, cursing herself for venturing so far in the first place. By the time she arrived at the wind-whipped tent, she was soaking wet and the sky was much darker than it should’ve been. 

She changed into dry clothes and attempted to seal the seams of the tent with a wax stick from her bag. The wind strengthened throughout the evening, sending shards of water into the tent. A particularly strong gust blew out several of her stakes; the back half of the tent flew free of the ground and began flapping wildly. Kasumi was soaked, as were all of her belongings. Goddammit, this wasn’t what she had planned.

\----

Mihawk frowned as the wind and rain howled around the castle. Storms like this weren’t rare on Kuraigana Island, but this one seemed especially early for the season. He briefly considered dashing outside to rescue his cilantro plants, but was curious to see how they fared on their own. 

His thoughts kept returning to the young woman in the tent, but the rain obscured his vision and frustrated his nosiness. Sighing decisively, he put on his rain boots and cloak and set off for the opposite corner of the island. Within only a few minutes, he’d arrived on the shoreline and saw the tent being lashed by the wind, completely soaked through. He had the advantage against his foe, as usual. 

“I know you’re there.” 

Though his expression was unchanged, Mihawk was taken aback by the words' sudden resonance in his mind.

The girl flung herself out of the opening of the tent, holding aloft a torch that died nearly instantly in the downpour. She stood grasping her sword and staring at his own, her face a mixture of stubbornness and fear. 

“Who are you?” she screamed into the wind. 

“I should ask the same of you.”

“I’m Princess Kasumi of the Shikkearu and this is my family’s kingdom.”

Mihawk raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t look like much of a kingdom to me. Tell me, humandrill princess, how long do you expect to survive on this island alone?”

“As long as I can! This is my land and I will not be moved.”

“Eh, your castle will not withstand the storm much longer. Perhaps you’d rather take shelter in mine…My name is Dracule Mihawk,” he said, gesturing with a closed fist toward the northwest portion of the island.

She steeled her jaw and considered his offer. Her tent was done for, her supplies soaked, her body beginning to shiver, and the night had only just begun.

“Are you living in Hiroshi’s castle?”

“No… I live in Dracule Mihawk’s castle. Come. It’s raining.”

She hesitated as the rain soaked through her clothes and boots. “Do you intend to kill me?”

“Of course not,” he mused, “I’m an excellent host.”

Kasumi weighed her options. If she accepted his offer, she might have—at least—a dry place to sleep, and if worse came to worse, she might be able to manipulate him—or even fight him into submission. If he was going to kill her, she’d make her last stand on her homeland. 

She slung her sack over her shoulder and approached the imposing man standing at the far end of the shoreline. 

He frowned. “It is truly necessary to bring that?” he asked, nodding toward the sack.

“It’s all I have.”

“Is that so?" he smirked, "Eh, come on, then.”

He folded his arm around her waist as she bristled, “Excuse me? I’ll have you know that you can’t just put your hands on me and—”

“Be still,” he commanded. He sprung into the air and soared a short distance before landing atop a pile of ruins and jumping again, pushing through the rain toward the white castle. 

Kasumi sulked. Being carried away by a man was not the way she’d hoped to begin rebuilding her kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/
> 
> Come talk absurdist/existential philosophy with me in this chapter's post!  
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/179785001506/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-4


	5. An Excellent Host

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter... Stick with me a while longer. Birds have short attention spans.

Mihawk deposited his prey onto the entryway of his home and hung up his cloak. The young woman backed away from him skeptically, nearly stumbling on the stone tiles. He offered to take her coat, a courtesy he’d witnessed from others, but never had a chance to extend to a guest of his own. She retreated further into the foyer, crinkling her brow as she took measure of the man while he removed his boots.

He was tall and lithe, with a surprising amount of strength behind his quick and shallow movements. He stood dripping before her in a white three-button shirt and heavy black pants, rainwater trickling down his hair and into his face. He produced a handkerchief and wrung it onto the floor, then wiped his face and offered it to the young woman. Ignoring his overture, she squeezed out her hair and hesitantly entered the great room of Hiroshi’s castle. It seemed familiar, but strange, as if she’d dreamed about it before but long since forgotten. A fire roared at the far wall, and she wandered in without an invitation, keeping her back to the fire and her eyes on Mihawk.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he mumbled, “…Are you hungry?”

“Uh, no, thank you. I’m fine,” she replied vacantly as she took in the room.

“Hm… I wouldn’t be an excellent host if I didn’t offer you something. Sit… down.” He disappeared into the next room, secretly eager to play host to the visitor before he disposed of her.    

Kasumi sat shivering on the hearth despite the warmth of the fire. She would have liked to change clothes, but everything in the bag was soaked; she’d need to dry some of her clothes here overnight so she’d have something to wear tomorrow. After removing her coat and boots and placing them in front of the fire, she smoothed her hair and looked around – just how strong was this Dracule Mihawk and what was he doing in her castle?

He returned after a short while, carrying a tray with soup, shrimp and rice, crackers, and tea. “You can eat these leftovers. I can’t offer you anything nicer at the moment,” he said, placing the tray onto a table by the fireplace and plopping casually on the sofa. Once settled, he crossed his legs and propped his stockinged feet onto the table with a solid thump.

Her eyes scanned the tray. She was hungry, but she wasn’t sure if it was wise to accept anything from him. The food looked simple, but good—definitely better than anything she’d had in the past week. A doubt pierced through her hunger; she’d really wanted to be more independent than this, and besides, what if he’d put something in it? Concluding that she’d rather be hungry, she pushed the tray away.

He frowned. “If I were to kill you, it wouldn’t be with poisoned food…”

“You said you don’t intend to kill me.”

“Intentions can change,” he shot back bluntly.

His comment hung like fog as Kasumi eyed him over the steaming bowls. She focused her thoughts on sending him commands, but it was like trying to push her hand through a brick wall.

“Why are you on this island, humandrill-girl?”

“This island is my home.”

“That’s where you’re mistaken. This island is _my_ home. You’ve merely trespassed.”

Her pulse began to thunder in her neck. Bringing her hand to her sword, she growled, “I have more right to this land than you. I’ve nowhere else to go and am ready to die here.”

“And so you may!” His red eyes sparkled, but his expression was unchanged. “Such resolve from a waterlogged little rabbit!”

 _“You don’t know what I’m capable of!”_ She pushed the thought toward him and clenched her teeth, quickly drawing her cutlass from her side.

Within an instant, it went clamoring to the stone floor. Kasumi next reached for her flail, but after a quick flick of his wrist, Mihawk had removed that, too. Had she just been disarmed without even seeing what happened?

“Those won’t be necessary…at least not tonight. Stay here, rest well, and… I’ll sort out tomorrow whether you’ll live or die. Now eat. It’s not often I get to host visitors.”

Kasumi looked over the various bowls, supposing that it would be a shame to waste food. She hesitantly began to eat and was relieved to find that the dishes tasted normal, even delicious. She finished the tray in silence while Mihawk examined her weapons.

“These relics are in terrible repair. What have you been doing with them?” He ran his finger along the cutlass and clucked his tongue, “You haven’t cared for them in the least.”

Kasumi seethed. She hadn’t had a chance to give any attention to her weapons since the last bounty on Water Seven.

He casually tossed her equipment on the table. “...Eh, you can sleep tonight in the second room on the third floor. I’ll bring you some linens.”

“Thank you?” Kasumi said, unable to shake the feeling that she was being fattened for slaughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/
> 
> What's your Mihawk backstory headcanon? Visit this chapter's post at:  
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/179855713081/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-5


	6. Guest Room

Mihawk hoisted Kasumi’s sopping bag over his shoulder and led her up the great stone staircase by lantern light as she took in her surroundings. A moonbeam entered from the window in the first landing, falling onto a golden vase atop a dusty marble table.

“Ah… who is this Hiroshi?” he asked casually.

“My uncle—He _was_ my uncle.”

“…And you were raised in this castle, Shikkearu?” he asked, gliding up the stairs silently as she plodded behind.

“Eh, no, I was raised in the castle to the southeast. The main castle.”

“There is no southeast castle. Only a pile of rocks swallowed by the swamp.”

“It burned on the day I left…” she said quietly.

Mihawk exhaled sharply through his nose. “So fate spared one lucky girl, hm? And where have you been all this time?”

Her boots squeaked and squished with every step. It seemed she had no choice but to follow him now; the darkened stairs behind her seemed to wipe away any notion of retreat.

“Um, I lived in secret in a barn on Water Seven. The barn of my father’s man at arms…” She’d never considered how ludicrous it sounded aloud.

“A barn on Water Seven…Is that right, princess?” he asked sarcastically, drawing an angry scowl from the young woman.

He turned on the third floor landing and led her down a dark hallway. Her chest tightened upon realizing that these had been the bedrooms of her relatives. Her cousins, her aunt and uncle, everyone who’d ever lived here… they were all gone. Extinct. She scanned the hallway for anything familiar, but nothing remained to indicate that the Shikkearu family had claimed this castle at all.

The second door opened with a musty creak when he pushed against it. “This room is best for you, I think,” he announced. He lit a bedside lantern that revealed only an iron bed and a small table. “I hope… you’ll find it to your liking,” he added awkwardly. He placed her soaked bag of supplies on the stone floor and excused himself as Kasumi began looking around for places she could hang her clothes to dry: the mantle, the doorframe, maybe the bedpost if she could avoid knocking into it while she slept—

She gasped as she realized that her host was suddenly looming again in the threshold, holding a neat stack of linens and staring at her impatiently. “I’ve lit the boiler if you’d like to wash up and… ahem, rid yourself of that humandrill scent.” After handing her the stack, he turned abruptly and quickly added, “My room is across the hall. Please don’t… break anything.” Kasumi listened to his footsteps disappear down the dark corridor and didn’t move until she’d heard his door latch.

Looking over the pile of linens, she found fine white bedding, a few bath towels, and a long white men’s shirt. Steaming at the idea that he thought she was desperate enough to wear his shirt, she dug through her bag and salvaged what she could, draping her wet clothes over any surface in the room that would support them. Why did he give her a room without any furniture? He was probably hogging it all to himself!

The boiler popped in the hallway and she followed the sound a few rooms down to find a spacious and clean bathroom. After lighting the candelabra, she combed out her hair and examined her face in the mirror; the wound from Water Seven was healing nicely, and the split in her lip was almost gone. Her shoulders had grown more muscular lately—she felt it suited her well.

The tub was a welcome sight after four years of cold showers at Henri’s. She relished the warmth and relief from the sticky slime of the swamp as she washed her hair and body with the shower before entering the bath. The travertine tub was delightful—or it would have been, if she could’ve just forgotten for a moment the uncertainty of her current situation. Her imagination tugged at the desire of what it would be like once it was hers. She’d have bath salts, and herbs, and oils, and a soft cotton bathrobe with her name embroidered on the shoulder! Tonight, however, the shower was accompanied by only a bar of soap, and beside the tub was a mostly-empty container of salt. This was a bachelor’s bath…

Despite the lack of amenities, she finished her bath feeling refreshed and scuttled back to her bedroom wearing only the white shirt. A small jar of oil from her bag served as hair conditioner and ointment for her lip. This situation was workable! She might even be able to take the castle back tomorrow!

The bedding was crisp and cool—a duvet would have been nice—but she didn’t feel chilled at all compared to last night. She blew out the lantern and drew the covers up in the moonlight; Hiroshi’s monogram glared at her from the cuff of the borrowed shirt. “Disgusting,” she huffed.

It had been years since she’d slept in this kind of bed; she’d been on a futon in Henri’s barn for so long… Her back swayed; she felt as if she was sinking downward, her spine pulling toward an uncertain stopping point.

\----

Mihawk couldn’t sleep. He had such an interesting fish! And such a convenient aquarium in which to observe it! The young woman, if she was what she claimed, would make a fine pet (and if she wasn’t, killing her would be quite satisfying); she was strong, stubborn, foolish, and easy on the eyes. Plus, she had finally pulled together the scattered leaves of this "Hiroshi" business and the history of the Shikkearu War. Until now, he’d only been able to piece together the details from books and the gossip he’d overheard from Sabaody.

Still, what should he _do_ with his new acquisition? He’d need to act soon; he didn’t like to be away from the Grand Line too long. Newcomer pirates were like roaches: if you allowed one to stay, they multiplied quickly. Quashing them was his hobby as well as his career—he had a reputation to uphold!

Dracule Mihawk wasn’t sure exactly what he intended to do next, but he was eager to test the princess’ limits. He waited up in the darkness in case she might come try to fight him, even wearing his nice brown _jinbei_ instead of his usual old pajamas, but she never arrived.  

\----

The next morning, Kasumi awoke with a gasp, fully realizing the decision she’d made last night.  Why didn’t she just try to ride out the storm? She needed to be more stubborn, more resolute. She’d been hasty; would her freedom really be this short-lived?

She changed out of Hiroshi’s shirt and found her clothes just a bit damp, but tolerable. The staircase to the ground floor was cold and slick, and she followed the morning light to the kitchen at the back of the castle. Mihawk sat at a small table, poised behind a well-worn book.

“You’re late… Your breakfast is cold.” He nodded toward a bowl of rice topped with a fried egg.

“Sorry,” she blurted out instinctively. She sucked in her breath, wishing she’d said something else.

She ate a few mouthfuls in silence before she could hold it no longer: “Why did you give me my dead uncle’s shirt?”

His eyes never rose from the page. “Bah, I can’t give you one of mine. You’ll… stink it up with humandrills. Besides, there were many fine clothes here… when I moved in, so naturally I reserved some for rags and whatnot.”

“What do you want with me?” she asked between bites.

“To see who you are.”

“I already told you. I’m Princess Shikkearu Kasumi. I’m 18 years old. This is my family’s island. I’ve come to claim my birthright.”

He cocked his head slightly to the right. “And just how do you intend to do that?”

“I’m going to take this castle from you.” She tried sending the words with a forceful push from her mind, but his aura felt like granite. Just what kind of person was she dealing with?

“Wahahaha!” he cackled, tilting his head back on his thick neck, “Don’t you know who I am?”

Kasumi picked at her breakfast. “I’d heard that there was a Shichibukai here sometimes,” she admitted sheepishly, “the world’s best swordsman. I thought it was a children’s story.”

“Do you think it’s a children’s story now, eh?”

She ignored him, searching desperately to give him a reason to let her live. “I’m strong. I can help you. I’m a bounty hunter.”

“Oh, but you’re the one who’s been caught, rabbit,” he snarled.

Kasumi gestured with her chopsticks. “I have a certain power and I just need some time to fully awaken my gifts. When I’m stronger, I’ll be unstoppable…I…”

“Hmph, like your family was?” he interrupted. “Tell me why I shouldn’t do away with you now.”

“Because you know this land belongs to me.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Because I interest you. Because I can control the humandrills. Because you want to see what I can do.”

 _“You won’t kill me,”_ she added, sending the thought so strongly that she heard her pulse sound in her ear.

“Tell me… what exactly is this power of yours?”

“The Shikkearu can make others hear our minds; I can send my thoughts and make people do what I want. Just listen!” She closed her eyes and forced the words at him: _“I can suggest anything I want.”_

His expression was unchanged.

“And with time, I’ll be able to read others’ thoughts—and someday, I’ll be able to control others’ minds and…” she hesitated, “rebuild my family’s kingdom.”

“Is that so?” he mused, “And who sent you here?”

“No one. My servant brought me because I need a place to live.”

“Eh, so return to live with him.”

Kasumi tightened her brow and admitted, “That was… unsustainable.”

Mihawk was conflicted; he’d sensed no deception in her story, but it was all too good to be true. A secret princess from a line of dead mind readers? He’d need to test her somehow. He was eager to see her skills.

"Do you believe you're strong enough to defeat me? Will you fight me?”

She glared at him as she finished the last bites of rice.

He drew his face close to hers; “...eh, _humandrill-hime,_ I don’t tolerate weakness,” he hissed.

She pushed her shoulders toward the ground and locked her eyes with his. “Neither do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/
> 
> You just can't beat that serial killer-like hospitality! This chapter's post:  
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/179928747106/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-6


	7. Round 1

Kasumi washed her bowl in silence as Mihawk hovered in the kitchen.

“Fight me today,” he said finally.

Her heart sank. She’d been hoping he would let her settle in a bit more before testing her. Though her mouth was quick, there was no way she could defeat him physically, and she wasn’t even sure if he could hear her mind. She tried ignoring him.

“Where do I put this bowl?”

“Uh, cabinet on your right…no, the next one. Eh, Shikkearu, I said I’d like to fight you today.”

Kasumi closed the cabinet and turned on her heels. “And what would that prove? We both know that you’re stronger.”

“There’s much that can be learned about someone when they’re struggling for their life. Furthermore, as long as you… insist on staying here, you don’t really have a choice. Meet me in the sparring room in the east wing in a bit. It’s time to decide if you’ll live.”

Mihawk strode off sternly, satisfied that he’d reminded her who had the upper hand in this situation. He glided over the stone floor, moving away from the warmth of the kitchen and into the breezy east wing.

The sparring room was the last entrance at the end of the wing: a wood-floored room with slit windows and a large mirrored wall. He’d been delighted when he moved into the castle and found a cache of fine weapons that had been spared the dampness of the swamp. Although in battle he only used Yoru and the Kogatana around his neck, he’d collected swords from shops and opponents since his childhood. His most prized specimens were hung on the walls, but as his collection had grown, they’d begun to pile up in the corners of the room and spill out of multiple containers along the walls.

He walked outside to the weight room, a small patio that caught the fresh sea air before it was filtered through the swamp. Looking over the sea, he began to absentmindedly polish Yoru. The girl’s story was interesting, but if she couldn’t prove herself strong enough, then it might be more reasonable to kill her. There were plenty of interesting opponents out there...and what would one girl’s life matter in the long run? Whether he killed her or not, he would still be the world’s top swordsman, a lone murderer, a monster, a “government dog” according to Shanks. Loneliness didn’t bother him; boredom did.

If he killed her today, he could still be satisfied with what he’d learned about the island from her. If he let her live, then what? Send her back to Water Seven? Keep her as a servant? A slave? An underling? Let her live in the swamp with the baboons? He also couldn’t quite rid himself of the lingering suspicion that she was a spy or some kind of pathetic assassin.

He gave Yoru a final wipe and began working on the dented and chipped cutlass the girl had brought. His forearm tensed as he pressed into the scuffed and tarnished steel. It was clearly a few generations old and had been cared for at the beginning of its life, but used too roughly since. There was a crest in the pommel that he’d seen on other items in the castle; he’d disposed of everything that bore that mark when he moved in.  

He’d read about the Shikkearu Kingdom when he was a child. He’d heard that the family was especially warlike and hot-tempered, with some kind of telepathy. It’d always seemed preposterous to him—reading minds—but after touring the New World, he’d witnessed the Voice of All Things, the powers of the Three Eye Tribe, and advanced kenbunshoku haki…The girl could certainly send thoughts, but they were as easily ignored as an uninteresting bird’s song in the distance.

He breathed deeply and walked back inside the sparring room. If he was to let her live, she’d need to show some promise. Slicing her throat open was going to be quite satisfying.   

\----

Kasumi headed upstairs after breakfast. If this creep was intent on fighting her for her right to stay, she had two options: fight him harder than she’d ever fought before and hope that somehow it would be enough, or sway him with her mind.

In the sparse guest room, she gathered her hair into a low ponytail and tugged off her shirt. Who did this son of a bitch think he was? “I want to fight you?” He had no idea what she could do! She wrapped her torso in bandage strips and changed into her usual training clothes, churning with anger as she wrapped each wrist and finger; just because he was strong didn’t make him right! She was right. She’d survived. She hadn’t spent four years in exile just to come back and be defeated. Each wrap brought forth a throb in her fingertips. Her father was depending on her. Her mother, her siblings, every ancestor she had—they needed her to kill this man and take back the island.

After brooding for a bit, she stretched her legs and warmed up as she walked down the stairs to meet him. Her mind stirred with ideas of how she could manipulate him: sympathy, money, sexuality, reason, utility?

She found the sparring room to be much like the one in her former castle, except for the sea of swords. Mounted on the walls; displayed in racks; heaped up into piles in the corners and along the edges of the room. She spotted her cutlass and flail leaning against the far wall. Mihawk stood nearby, sweeping the wooden floor with a broom.

“Ah, you found it…I polished what I could of your weapons, though if you’d like to select something else it would be understandable.”

She briefly looked through the bouquets of random swords against the walls and decided to stick with her familiar cutlass and flail. A gleam of light from Yoru caught her eye; the great black sword laid resting in the sunlight of the patio.

“Hm, I won’t be using that. I’d like to give you a chance. I’ll be using this _bokken*_ I carved from the Kuraigana mangrove trees. I thought it would be… poetic for you to be defeated by your own island…” he said, holding up a black wooden sword.   

“So you admit it’s my island?” she snapped back, bristling at the idea that he thought she'd be so easily defeated; she’d smash his bokken with her flail and settle this once and for all.

Holding both weapons, she gave a shallow bow to her opponent. He stood glaring at her and offered her a grand, condescending bow. “Bows won’t be of much use to you in a real battle, princess.”

“It’s how I learned to fight. Just because you’ve forgotten how to have a respectful bout doesn’t mean everyone else has.”

“Hmph… But will your fighting skills match your spiny tongue? Let’s see the famed Shikkearu bloodlust,” he said flatly, holding the bokken in front of him.

The young woman stood _en garde_ , her cutlass before her and her flail swinging above her head. She advanced a few paces and stopped to observe the man who stood casually in front of her. The hint of a smile appeared on his lips as she gave a soft beat on his weapon. It didn’t move or sound like wood; he was obviously already using haki.

 _“Haki, really? I thought you were giving me a fair chance,”_ she asked silently.

“Habit, I suppose,” his voice buzzed.  

_"So you_ **can** _hear me?”_

His glare shot ice through her. “Bah, it’s a… clever trick you possess, but unless you can leverage it against your opponent, it won’t serve you at all… and your opponent is me.”

Kasumi began to boil. Everything about this man was infuriating! She was offended that he wouldn’t even get into stance for her, that he was fighting her with a bokken, that her gift meant nothing to him. Even if she was going to die, he owed her the same respect as any other serious opponent! She tested him a few times more, feinting and hopping as he tracked her. She withdrew slightly, keeping her feet moving lightly across the floor.

Mihawk curled up his lip. “I sincerely hope that it’s not your only trick—You **do** know how to swordfight? I saw you with the monkeys. Show me what you can do. Come kill me.”

A cry tore through her throat as she lunged forward and knocked the bokken out of her way. She swiftly changed the direction of her cutlass toward his neck while whipping the flail toward the opposite side of his head, predicting that he’d duck and she’d be able to get a strike in from the top. Her excitement was extinguished before she could make contact, when she was blown sideways by a crack to her ribs that sent her useless flail sliding across the wooden floor.

Mihawk stood as calmly and casually as if he’d just wished her a good day. Tilting his head curiously, he protested, “ _Humandrill-hime_ , that’s not enough. Where’s your fight?”

She charged again, leaping into a flying strike at his chest and intending to back out as quickly as she could. He deflected her with a blow to her shoulder that sent a shock through her arm that resonated down her spine. Once her vision had settled, she gathered herself and circled him, unsteadily springing back and forth.

“Wahahaha!” he cackled, “Jump, rabbit, jump!” He hadn’t moved except for the two imperceptible strikes that had sent her reeling; she was too predictable, too rhythmic. Her lifetime of training was amounting to nothing in the face of his speed and power.  

The princess held back for an instant and gave him an invitation to strike, hoping that she could parry and take advantage of him when he exposed his weakness. _“Show me your attack.”_

Mihawk briefly leaned backward and laughed. “Bah,” he scoffed, “foolish girl.” He struck her near collarbone, snapping the bokken so fiercely that she felt like the bone might’ve cracked in half. “Don’t leave yourself open to blows from someone you don’t know.”

She still hadn’t made true contact with him. His agility was unbelievable. Up until now, the strongest person she’d faced was Henri; the bounties she’d captured on Water Seven weren’t even close to this level! If only she could disarm him, or at the very least knock him offline… Her abdomen strained to stay taut as nausea filled her chest and her thoughts grew thick with pain.

She tightened her gaze and focused on analyzing his movements. Henri’s voice echoed in her mind: any foe could be overwhelmed once you understood their weakness. Keep your feet moving. Keep your opponent guessing.

Bursting forward, she attacked as quickly as she could with the strongest fury of blows she could muster. Each swing was gracefully and effortlessly countered by Mihawk, who hardly seemed to move at all; she’d telegraphed every move on her face.

She pulled back and panted, sweat pouring from her head as she tried to figure out what to do next. He seemed inhuman. This was her last chance. Sending haki through her cutlass, she sidestepped into a quick, short swing onto his far side. She was able to make contact briefly with the loose folds of his shirt before the bokken crashed again into her ribs, leaving her writhing on the ground.

“ _Busoshoku_ haki, eh? So you were taught more than bad footwork and mind games?”

She heaved and thrashed on the floor, writhing with defiance and rage. _“I can’t let you have this castle.”_

He tilted his head again. “Show me your defense.”

She stumbled onto her feet and managed to hold her sword _en garde_. A blur of strikes came toward her chest as she steadily backed towards the patio. He tried to keep the meter even and methodical, but she wasn’t able to keep up her blocks for more than a few seconds before being thrashed by the bokken _._ He drove her to the back wall with ease.

Kasumi had never fought anyone like this. Sweat was pouring down her neck and it seemed like every muscle she had was trembling. The tendons in her arms had stopped listening to her. She pressed against the bokken with as much strength as she could wrench, but it didn’t move. “ _I never knew someone this strong was out there.”_

Mihawk relaxed his stance and dropped the bokken to his hip. “Pathetic. I thought you came from the vicious people who destroyed this island,” he snarled.

She grit her teeth as she brought her sword against him one last time. Killing him now was her only option. Her muscles tore as she screamed and lunged toward his abdomen, her target seeming to vibrate in front of her. Every feeling she’d ever experienced—every pain, every pleasure, every frustration, every desire—was brought forward in a surge of her cutlass.

Her strikes were far too big and predictable for Mihawk to bother with. Like so many amateurs, she’d tried to best him with force instead of skill, and neither was to her advantage. He pushed her against the wall and brought his cheek next to hers. “This is my island, _humandrill-hime_ ,” he seethed.

Her chest heaved, “I suppose… it is.”

“Ah,” he scoffed, “is that so? Then remove yourself at once!”

She raised her chin. “…No… just because… you call it your home… doesn’t mean… doesn’t belong to me… It’s mine to claim.”

Mihawk’s lips curled into a sneer of disgust. “Hm. Too willful. It will be the end of you.” He scraped the bokken against the thin skin under her chin until a dark purple line appeared. “Fight me again this afternoon. I want to see if you can learn from this.” He turned and strode angrily down the hallway as Kasumi collapsed onto the patio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * bokken: a wooden training sword used for solitary practice
> 
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/
> 
> Learn about bokkens and flails in this chapter's post!  
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/179992625841/through-the-fog-by-waskonedo-chapter-7-round-1


	8. オォォォォ

He stomped out to the circular landing overlooking the moat and pulled off his shirt. Just who did this stupid girl think she was? “Mine to claim?” Was she too daft to realize how easily he could end this situation? He raked his fingers through his hair and onto his neck, letting the salty breeze cool his frustration. He still had the upper hand. He was right. He hadn’t spent his life becoming the best swordsman only to have some girl come and challenge him. Every bit of pride in him needed him to kill the girl and defend his island. 

He exhaled slowly. Letting his emotions decide was foolish; he needed to analyze the situation like any other, coldly and rationally: his previously simple and predictable life had been interrupted by an insect. Obviously, he should swat it away and continue his journey… but something was stopping him; he didn’t want to kill her. All in all, she didn’t pose a threat to him and she obviously had some potential, but he wished she’d shown more skill. Physical tenacity and formal techniques would only take her so far. If she couldn’t demonstrate more mental powers than what she’d shown, then she was worthless to him.

He lumbered into the study and curled up in a chaise for his mid-morning nap—things would surely be clearer after a little rest.

\----

Kasumi lay on the patio until her breathing normalized. The fresh sea air gradually calmed her mind and cooled her burning body. She’d lost, but for some reason he’d given her another chance. He was much stronger than her, than Henri, maybe even than her father. She’d never seen such grace and skill from an opponent—on the other hand, his brute strength had dealt her the fiercest blows she’d ever known. Her body felt like pounded mochi; her muscles throbbed. She staggered to her knees and began stumbling toward the hallway.

Passing by the mirror in the sparring room, she realized just how defeated she was. Her flail had been pathetically useless and her sword had only barely defended her. She hadn’t been able to use her thoughts against him; her gift seemed worthless. He was a robot, a monster, a devil fruit user. Overpowering him was hopeless, she thought in despair as she shuffled up the staircase toward her room to regroup.

Each stair tested her commitment to this preposterous arrangement. Just who was this guy and how crazy was he? She couldn’t just sit around and wait on him to murder her! She ought to kill him now before he had the chance. Maybe she should just escape the castle and hide out in the swamp! The humandrills would keep her safe, but… then what? He was obviously some kind of homicidal maniac, playing at being host while planning to kill her.

If he insisted on fighting again in the afternoon, she needed a plan. She closed the door to her bedroom and undressed to inspect the damage. Her biceps, which had taken most of his blows, were striped with violet welts; her right shoulder and collarbone were heavily bruised and making suspicious clunking noises; her ribs stung with every breath, and her thighs and forearms were like jelly. She shakily rewrapped her bandages as best she could and lay down on the bed to think.

He must have a weak spot, some vulnerability that she could exploit with her mind! Obviously, her body certainly wasn’t going to win against him. His words replayed in her mind: “unless you can leverage it against your opponent, it won’t do you much good… and your opponent is me.”

But what did he have that she could exploit? His only interests seemed to be playing house and swordfighting! His personality was cold, aloof, and strangely formal. He was alone, but didn’t seem lonely… or horny… or greedy… or especially compassionate… or anything else that she could use against another young man. She wished he would just agree to leave! Her eyes closed as exhaustion took hold and she found herself in the limbo between sleep and throbbing wakefulness.   

A sharp knock on her door snapped her upright.

“Humandrill girl, lunch.”

Kasumi scowled. He really was a homicidal maniac.

\----

She hesitantly joined Mihawk at the kitchen table several minutes later. “I don’t often have guests,” he said, placing a cluster of dishes before her: soup, grilled fish, rice, pickled turnips, and a small salad. “I hope you’ll enjoy these meals despite our… current animosity. The turnips are from my garden.”

“Hm,” she nodded.

Mihawk frowned and stirred at the cloud of miso a few moments before he looked up at her. “I expected to see something more… ferocious. You don’t seem like the Shikkearu I’ve read about, the ones that destroyed themselves over a silly argument.”

 _“You don’t know anything about my family,”_ she shot back.

“I know what I’ve read and what I saw when I arrived here. Those people were savages.” He looked down into his bowl and sighed. “Hmph. Yet, it’s clear that you have some kind of weak telepathy… and that you received the same type of rigorous—yet ultimately useless—swordtraining as most other royals...”

Kasumi scoffed.

“—but even if you are who you say, why in blazes would you think you could come here and defeat me to take my castle?”

“Because it SHOULD be mine. It’s my duty to take it,” she said, “and you’re just a man, hardly older than me.”

He stopped mid-bite and raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m an ordinary man?”

This was the opportunity she needed! She felt a chance to pick at his psyche. “Everyone can be manipulated,” she said between swallows.

“Tell me, do you think you can manipulate me?”

_“It’s my only chance.”_

He curled his lip. “…I suppose it is.”

They ate in silence a while, each hesitant to break the tension.

 _“Humandrill-hime_ ,” he asked after a deep breath, “why do you use the North Blue fencing style?” He leaned in to gently refill her tea and offered her more turnips.

“No, thank you. I was taught by Henri Fortier, my father’s commander.”

“And that’s the man who brought you here?”

“Yes,” she said, before adding quietly, “he’s all I have left of my family.”

“Hm,” he grunted, unfazed. “Your techniques are impractical and too weak to take you very far on the Grand Line. North Blue style is… overly concerned with propriety and form rather than effectiveness… You have the potential to be much more powerful if you can discover your strengths… but it seems you’d rather wrestle with monkeys and argue about your rights to other people’s houses.”

“And you have the chance to do the right thing and help me fulfill my destiny, but you’d rather beat me up.”

“I want to see what’s inside,” he growled, his eyes flickering.

“Same as you, blood, brains, and stubbornness.”

An image of himself cutting her to ribbons flashed through his mind. She certainly had a mouth. Dealing with her was too much to think about right now.

 _“Yosh’_ , I’ll be in the parlor. The least you can do is clean up the dishes.”

\----

Mihawk stretched out in his armchair and plopped his feet onto the ottoman. She hadn’t even complimented his food or noticed the turnips he’d carefully carved into delicate chrysanthemums. Leaving her to do the dishes was surely an appropriate punishment.

Whether she was a spy, an assassin, or a Shikkearu princess, she didn’t seem to be very good at any of it. The situation would resolve itself soon enough. He closed his eyes and wondered if she was taking a nap, too.

\----

Kasumi fumed as she dried the last bowl. What was she supposed to do next while this house-squatting, creepy madman took naps all day like a toddler? She decided to explore downstairs, looking for anything that would give her some insight into his motivations. But after examining the entire west wing, all she found was room after room of lonely groupings of antique furniture, with hardly any decorations at all.

The study was the only room that provided any real information about her captor. The shelves were overflowing with books that spilled out onto the desk in precarious stacks. Looking through the titles, all she saw were history books, war stories, and a few old poetry anthologies—no fiction, art, or even holy books, and certainly none of the romance and fantasy titles that she loved from her nights in Henri’s barn. She sighed and walked toward the staircase to continue her expedition.

She passed by the parlor and heard him snoring softly, sprawled out like a cat in the sun. “What a boring and strange man,” she thought. “All he does is eat and sleep.”   

The hallways and alcoves at the top of the castle were just as empty and plain as downstairs. On the third floor, she braved to enter his bedroom, which contained a stately four-poster bed, a dresser, a nightstand piled with books, and a collection of empty wine bottles on the floor. There were no family pictures, no decorations, no artwork, nothing that humanized him to her. The master bath was very impressive, but just as empty except for the usual toiletries, a few books, and more empty wine bottles.

She crossed the hallway to her bedroom and sat on the floor. The tour of the castle had revealed that he liked boring books and expensive wine, had no one in the world whom he cared about, and had no decorating sense. What a waste of the past hour!

The futility of her situation had become painfully apparent. A storm began to brew in her mind, and soon adrenaline shocked her into a near panic. She was most likely going to die here, this afternoon, in the same castle her father died in four years earlier, and that would be the end of the Shikkearu Kingdom. She didn’t stand a chance against this monster! She’d given it her best, tried to fulfill her duty to her family, but she’d been too young and weak to finish the job. Fine. So be it. It was much more preferable than the returning to Water Seven. At the very least, she could go down fighting, the only honorable death for a Shikkearu. She checked her bandages, tightened her ponytail, and went to wake the bastard up.

“I’m ready,” she announced when she entered the parlor.

He rose gradually from the chair, stretching his arms over his head. “Did you have a nice time snooping through my house? You’re aware I can hear you, no?”

“Well, it’s not like you have anything interesting.”

“Hmph, I have many interesting things, to those who know how to appreciate them… Are you ready to fight me in earnest?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He followed her silently to the sparring room and grabbed the bokken. Though he’d spared her during the first battle, the idea of killing her with wood from a Kuraigana tree was too clever to waste. 

Kasumi stretched and readied her weapons; her body ached and her sword felt much heavier than usual. She tried to avoid thinking about the fact that when Mihawk killed her, Henri would come on Thursday and likely be killed as well. Her father’s words wormed their way into her mind: “We Shikkearu only live to die.” It had come sooner than she’d expected, but it was time.

She bowed to him and stood _en garde,_ her flail swinging behind her as she circled him. She lunged and feinted several times but he stood unmoving, tracking her with a spiteful glare.

“Do you sincerely believe you can defeat me with your sloppy footwork and your obvious bluffs?” He slashed at her midsection as she leapt backward.

Raging with adrenaline from having evaded the blow, she counterattacked, only to feel the bokken crash into her side.

“Parry that, little rabbit. You should have seen it coming.”

He hopped around as she heaved, mocking her footwork and lunging forward to taunt her. She _had_ seen it coming—he was just too imperceptibly quick! She tried to focus her rage into something more than chaos. Pressing forward, she jutted out her lower jaw and sliced futilely at the air around him.

Her recklessness allowed him the opportunity to swipe at the ball of the flail, his keen eyes perceiving its motion clearly. The weapon shot from her grip and clamored to the floor, the ball divided neatly in half with a metallic peal.    

“That weapon is rubbish. Whoever gave you that is rubbish. A swordfighter only needs a sword.”

Kasumi swallowed hard. Her flail had been her shield—not to mention a good intimidation tactic—despite its actual ineffectiveness. Relying only on her cutlass felt unfamiliar and dangerous. Furthermore, her arms throbbed with piercing electricity with every blow she dealt or blocked. Holding out with only the sword would be a different battle than the one she’d hastily planned. 

She lunged and stabbed at him, her blade black with haki. He evaded her with a nonchalant sidestep and swung downwards toward her shoulder. She was able to counter the blow and pushed against it until she could smell smoldering wood. When her arms began to shake, she rolled to the left and the bokken slammed into the floor, leaving a smoking black mark.

_“Ha, I’m a faster rabbit than you thought!”_

“I’m merely trying to give you every opportunity to demonstrate your strength.”

_“So you **don’t** want to kill me.”_

His bright crimson eyes dilated as he angled forward and growled, “But, princess, the pleasure would be entirely mine!”

She had her opening. _“Then why do you like hosting me? Why did you want to fight me twice? Why did you make turnip flowers for lunch?”_

He towered over her as she panted and backed away. His expression unchanging, his head tilted slightly before he lunged with the cold precision of a machine press and thrust the bokken into her upper left arm. “Don’t mistake my hospitality for weakness, Shikkearu.”

Kasumi’s heart fell into her stomach. Too shocked to use her weapon, her throat tightened as felt a series of small pops when her muscle tore while he twisted the sword before he withdrew. She flailed backward, clutching her bicep and feeling only electric anger and searing pain. _“What do you want from me?!”_

“To see if you’re good enough,” he replied flatly.

_“For what?!”_

“To keep my interest.”

“You already think I’m interesting,” she sputtered. “Let me live here and witness my potential. I deserve at least a chance to see how far I can go.” Her thoughts were spinning out of control. Was — was she begging for her life? Did the voice pleading her life belong to her? _We Shikkearu only live to die._ Pleading for mercy was an unforgivable disgrace! There was no honor in staying here and tiptoeing around this madman. Now or never.

The scream that corkscrewed from her throat tasted like blood, but she couldn’t hear it. She flew at him wildly, with a ferocity that channeled the rage of every ancestor she had. Tears shot from her eyes and her body seemed to react on its own, charging furiously into each strike. He gracefully ducked and evaded each blow until she had backed him against the wall, her cutlass pointed at his neck.

“Ah, there’s the beast I was hoping to see,” he said, almost cracking a smile. He lowered his chin and looked up at her as he slunk playfully along the stonework.

She suddenly felt connected to him, as if she could see a facet that had been previously been covered by mud—he was just a kid like her. The awkward hospitality, the showy lunch, the taunting… She reached up to press her hand on his cheek and whispered, her breath hot and humid, “I don’t want to kill you either, but it seems that fate has put us in an untenable position. It’s not fair that this Shikkearu destiny fell on me.”

Like a taut line severed, he vaulted forward with rage, crashing into her with horrifyingly quick and unpredictable blows. Kasumi felt scalding white pain as he battered her in the chest, the arms, the head. The bokken slammed into her again and again, vibrating her skeleton with each sickening crack while she slid on the blood spilling out of her arm. “You think you’re the only person in the world with a stone around your neck? Selfish, blind little princess!” His mouth was contorted with anger, his eyes intense and piercing.

It was her turn to be against the wall. Her vision became cloudy and her thoughts were thick. The planks of the sparring room floor seemed to churn and whirl as aimlessly as her mind. She’d definitely found his weak spot. _“I suppose we’re not so different, then.”_

Mihawk paused and pinned her right arm against the stone wall. “The distance between us could not be greater, rabbit. Tell me, are you ready to die?”

She inhaled, her sternum twitching uncontrollably. “Let me die…bested on the same ground my father was.” It took everything within her to push her feet against the ground and remain standing. She felt slick wetness running down her face and arms. There was a wooshing noise in the room that she hadn’t noticed before. Were these her last moments?  

He placed his palms flat on either side of her head and pushed away with a disdainful look. “ _Humandrill-hime_ , it’s not yet your time. Your foolish pugnacity might serve me well… and, eh, you also, I suppose.”

The uncontrollable trembling of her muscles made everything seem fluid and unsettled, as if she might melt into the floor and seep between the planks. She suddenly felt so very sleepy. She nodded forward and fell onto her side, pulled by the weight of injury and exhaustion. 

“Perhaps fate has something else in store,” he mused, tossing the bokken along the wall before adjusting his shirt. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“By the way…what kind of wine would you prefer with dinner? To celebrate your survival?”

She gagged and coughed up a mouthful of blood. “Sangria.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pickled turnip chrysanthemums (kikka kabu) are a Japanese New Year's food. The chrysanthemum is a symbol of rebirth and new beginnings. 
> 
> オォォォォ is Mihawk's background sound effect in the manga. It describes a wooshing or roaring noise.
> 
> Tumblr: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/  
> This chapter's post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180056149906/through-the-fog-by-waskonedo


	9. Kanpai

Kasumi awoke to a horse nudging against her hip. She was back in Henri’s barn, and Bisou was hungry as usual. “Just a minute… I’ll get you something in just a minute,” she mumbled.

“Oi, oi, get up. You should have napped when I did if you were going to become drowsy so easily… Shikkearu, it’s nearly time for dinner. You need to… clean up.”

She opened her eyes. It wasn’t clear to her which was the floor and which was the ceiling. A person stood over her, tapping against her with their boot. Her head pounded with every pulse and her throat felt as if it was full of thorns. Through blurry eyes, she weakly tried to grab at the boot as it shifted into and out of focus.

“Come now, it’s time to wake up. You can’t sleep on my floor all night.”

 _My floor?_ It slowly dawned on her where she was and whose foot was kicking her. “I can’t,” she creaked, “let me rest here a little while longer.”

“Shikkearu, get up,” he insisted, “I’ve cooked you a special dinner.”

 _“All you do is eat and sleep,”_ she protested silently.

“No… my time is occupied quite… favorably when I don’t have… trespassers disrupting my routine. Drink this water.” 

_“I just need a few minutes longer.”_

“Eh,” he grunted, “a few minutes, perhaps… but you need to come as quickly as you can. There’s a fixed limit to the… longevity of these dishes upon the stove.”

Footsteps left the sparring room, and she was alone again. The light from the eastern slit windows told her that it was already mid-evening; if she’d lived until now, she’d probably be able to make it through the night. Safe for the time being, she rolled onto her back and attempted to breathe in as far as her ribs would allow; her body felt like a smashed insect. She found her way into a sitting position and saw that the stab wound in her bicep had been freshly bandaged. There was a large glass of water placed beside her, but drinking it brought no relief, only nausea. She used the remainder to rinse her face, then sheathed her weapon and began to stagger toward the bedroom.

Mihawk had been dawdling in the hallway and glided to greet her as she neared the central staircase. “This way, please,” he instructed, offering his arm.

Relieved to have a solid object to balance on, she grasped his forearm with both hands and shuffled along. Her throat hurt too much to use. _“I need to lie down.”_

“Kukuku,” he chuckled as he led her away from the stairs, “you merely need some food… Oi, sit, it’s almost ready… No, eh, not in here, in the dining hall.”

Each wobbly step sent bolts of pain through her body. She crumpled into the first chair she found in the dining hall, her collarbone pounding, her ribs aching, her arms trembling. She hadn’t been in this much pain in years.

Mihawk swept into the room and frowned as he began to light taper candles along the length of the table. “Hmph, you were supposed to sit on the other side.”

 _“I’m more comfortable here,”_ she grumbled.

“Humandrill-hime,” he countered, “I am attempting to host a formal dinner.”

Her head spun with the overwhelming flickering candlelight and mixture of smells from the kitchen; even sitting up was an exertion that demanded her full concentration. “I don’t think I can eat anything,” she muttered.

“Hm, you’re weaker than I had supposed.”

Kasumi shot him a snarl as he retreated into the kitchen, reappearing with trays stacked with bowls and dishes. She looked on dumbstruck as he laid out the feast; _sake_ , tea, soup with oysters and prawns, pickled vegetables, sashimi, rice, grilled fish, daikon salad, clear broth soup, seafood paella, stewed beef and potatoes, and castella cake rapidly took over the space before her.

“I’ve made you some fine sangria with Garnacha, lychees, peaches, and a bit of pear juice. I’ll be having this Reserva Tempranillo I obtained recently... inform me if you prefer to drink something else.”

She stared blankly as Mihawk poured a generous glass in front of her and slid in a chunk of peach from the pitcher. The fruity scent was overwhelming; nauseated, she picked up her water glass and finished it.

“Hm,” he huffed, “you’re supposed to wait on the toast.” He handed her a cup of _sake_ and raised his own, staring at her until she shakily did the same. “To… past and future Kuraigana! _Kanpai!”_

The _sake_ stung her raw throat for a brief moment before delivering a pleasant anesthesia. She peered out at the banquet warily, wondering how long she would have to stay before she could excuse herself.

Watching her eyelids waver, Mihawk began to feel concerned that his guest wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Though he hadn’t been injured in years, he’d seen others recover much more quickly than she seemed to be. Surely some good food would bring her around! She hadn't even seemed impressed with the toast he'd been preparing all evening.

He kicked her softly under the table with his boot. “Come now, hime-kun _,_ the least you can do is acknowledge this dinner I’ve prepared.”

She moved her head forward. “Mm, thanks,” she mumbled, _“I’m alive. That has to count for something.”_

Her arm struggled to raise her chopsticks to her mouth, but once there, the food was exceptional. He’d clearly put a great deal of effort into taste, texture, and presentation, recalling the dinners she’d had on the island before days when the war turned ugly.

“Do you eat like this all the time?” she murmured.

His eyes shifted downward. “Well, no, of course not… But if one attempts a task, I believe one should apply oneself. Are you unsatisfied with your meal?”

“It’s good,” she admitted.

They ate in silence a while, Kasumi concentrating on getting food into her mouth while Mihawk observed his guest, wondering if she would comment on his culinary skills, their earlier bout, the wine, or say anything outside of complaining about her weak body.

She was first to break the silence. _“What’s your devil fruit called?”_

“Eh, what’s that, now?”

“Your devil fruit.” She took a drink of the sangria, which seemed to improve with each sip. “The one that made you the world’s strongest swordsman and gave you those eyes.”

“Meh, I don’t have one. I wouldn’t taint my body with that rubbish… My eyes are my eyes,” he said as he picked at a bite of fish, “Everything else I am is a consequence of my training.”

She smirked, “Really?”

“Yes, really, Shikkearu. My talent is as natural as yours… More beneficial, actually, considering that mine was perfected through dogged tenacity and yours is just a… congenital oddity.”

_“Watch your mouth. There’s more to my family’s power than you’ll ever know.”_

Appearing to ignore her, he finished his bowl and refilled her wine without asking. “Tell me, hime-kun, what do you want?”

She groaned. “We’ve discussed this. I want to claim this island.”

“Yes, but after that? What do you want to accomplish, hm?”

“My duty is to keep the Shikkearu line alive and to die an honorable death,” she said flatly, picking at her salad. The alcohol and food had begun to numb her pain, but her mind was still swimming. What was he getting at?

He took a long sip of wine. “But what is it that **you** desire?”

She sighed and set down her chopsticks. “Oh, I don’t know.” She stared at her bowl a while before the wine-heavy words began to pour from her mouth. “I mean… I’d like to keep training, keep getting stronger… travel somewhere besides swamps and lagoons… read books, have children… not have to hide who I am…” Suddenly catching herself, she added, “No one’s ever asked me that before. What do **you** want?”

He scoffed. “That wasn’t the question.” His guest looked taken aback by his curt reply, and he felt it appropriate to reconsider his response: “I have everything I want and if I desire something further, I can obtain it... But, eh, I suppose I’d say I want to live as a swordsman should, fulfill my duty, and drink good wine. That’s all.”

“What is your duty, exactly?” she asked hesitantly.

His crimson eyes flashed. “To accomplish what I’m meant to do.”

Regretting having asked the question, she tried to lighten the mood. She emptied her glass and teased, “So if I wait here long enough, you’ll be killed and I can have the island? I mean, you’re not going to last long if all you do is look for fights.”

“You underestimate me, rabbit. What I showed you is only a small portion of my power. It seems you’re the one who’s destined to die in some foolish battle, same as the rest of your family.”

\----

After their bout, Mihawk had exited the room and slid his back along the wall until he was seated on the cool floor just outside the door. She certainly was tough. Seeing the Shikkearu spirit alive in her was interesting, though it also seemed to be the root of her impulsivity and foolishness.

He’d been relieved that she’d been willing to die, but he’d never been certain that he should kill her anyway. He imagined himself taking over her training, perhaps using her as a kind of fighting housekeeper who could manage the castle while he was gone and then depart occasionally to leave him in peace while she hunted bounties on her own time. It seemed a fine solution. On the other hand, she was an intruder, a rude, stupid girl who had 18 years of backtalk and poor footwork ingrained in her.   

At the moment, however, she was bleeding all over his floor. He rarely needed first aid himself, but there had long been a supply of bandages gathering dust in the closet, leftover from when the girl’s family had occupied the castle. He collected them, along with a glass of water and a towel, and returned to her side. Removing the wraps from her punctured arm, he saw the black stripes from his bokken had consolidated into a large swollen mass. Naturally, he didn’t feel guilty about it; challenging him was her choice, and he’d made an earnest effort not to kill her. He washed the stab wound and dressed it, taking care to avoid touching her chest. She rested soundly as he casually wiped up the remaining blood and left her to recover.

Assuming that she’d wake soon after a short nap, he strolled into the parlor and picked up the den den mushi. He knew of only one person who could help him with the decision to allow her to stay or not. “Puru-puru-puru,” the snail reported. It rang a long while before a woman’s voice answered.

 _“Mikkun!_ I’m so glad you called. I was just thinking about how long it’s been since I’ve seen you. When are you going to come by again?”

“Hm, I need a favor...”

“Of course, darling, if there’s anything I can do that’s in my power, I’ll be happy to help you.”

“A girl—a young woman—appeared on my island. Eh, she appears to be… a descendant of the people who lived here before.”

“The Shikkearu? I thought they were all killed off.”

“Alas, so did I. She insists that she escaped to Water Seven and has come to claim her castle.”

“What are you going to do with her? Is she alive?”

“Yes, so far... Her fighting skills have some room for improvement, but there's some potential. She also possesses some manner of… unawakened mind-control talent.”

“Oh that’s right! I think I read about that.” A loud crash came through the line. “Hold on a minute.”

Mihawk rolled his eyes.

“Sweetheart, I’m a little busy, what do you need?”

“…I need to determine who she is.”

The woman sighed. “ _Mikkun_ , you shouldn’t be so suspicious of everyone.”

“Eh, I’m suspicious of not being suspicious of her.”

The voice sighed again, longer this time. “Alright, I can come in two or three days. I’ll have the old man take care of things around here. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“Hm,” Mihawk grunted. He disconnected the den den mushi and stretched out into his chair. She’d come in two or three days. He’d need to wait that long before he could be certain about the humandrill girl… it would be prudent to keep the atmosphere light until then. If she arrived and decided the girl wasn’t trustworthy, then he’d need to take some kind of action to… dispose of the phony princess.

Ah, but those thoughts would best be considered when the time came! He had far more pressing affairs than what to do with the humandrill princess. Besides, tonight he had an excuse to have a nice dinner with a real guest!

He washed up and got to work in the kitchen. Having never hosted a formal dinner before, he quickly discovered it was more work than he’d predicted, but the challenge satisfied him. His thoughts wandered to dream if this was what his life might have been like if he hadn’t been destined to be the greatest swordsman. He might’ve spent the rest of his life reading, napping, training, partaking of fine food and wine, collecting swords, and never again bothering with novice pirates or nosy girls.

Once the last of the dishes were simmering, he went upstairs to wash his face and changed into a red silk shirt. His dinner was going to be exquisite! 

Back downstairs, he peeked into the sparring room to check on Kasumi, who appeared to be resting well. He pulled a strand of hair out of her mouth and brushed against her cheek. He’d never had a pet before.

The dishes in the kitchen were almost done. It was time to wake her up.

\----

After dinner, Mihawk led Kasumi to the great room she’d visited her first night. Soon he’d nurtured a healthy fire in the hearth and wine was flowing as he circuitously prodded her about the history of the island, the Shikkearu War, and the latest political gossip from Water Seven.

She explained to him what she could, based on her family lore and what she’d heard from Henri. He listened attentively, allowing her to spill out everything she knew as her mood seemed to improve by the minute.

A short lull in her story caused her to abruptly realize that her throat and teeth were numb—her mind was floating; she’d told him too much. Eager to have someone who treated her like a normal adult, she’d been overly trusting, too revealing, too naïve. The fire popped and brought her back to the conversation. “I guess I don’t know much more than what I’ve already told you,” she trailed off.

He leaned back in his chair and observed her from across the room, seeming to scan her body with his cold, emotionless eyes. Kasumi stiffened her posture and resented herself for, once again, letting her guard down.

“Tell me, humandrill-hime, has your body reached its full size?”

A chill ran over her skin. “What? Why do you want to know?”

“I’m, eh, only asking if you expect to get stronger or taller. At 18 years old, you should have a full-weight blade,” he mused. “Your shoulders are weak… and your neck is too delicate.”

She was alarmed to hear him appraising her body like a horse. Her mind whirled with scenarios in which she could fight him off if he got any closer.

He stood and began to cross the room toward her.

_“Don’t try it. I’ll kill you if you put your hands on me.”_

He passed by her, shooting her a quizzical look before he added more logs to the fire. “Bah, surely you don’t think I’m some damned ogre?” he spat, “Shikkearu, relax; tonight you’re fortunate enough to be in one of the safest locations on the Grand Line.”

He returned to his chair and refilled his glass. “It’s true that you’re safer here now than you were as a child!”

Somewhat relieved, Kasumi flexed her feet and stretched her calves, still keeping a wary eye on Mihawk. “You realize that someday, this island will belong to my family again?”

“Wahahaha, and if I’m still here?”

She gave a wry smile. “Then I’ll raise my children alone here despite you. Maybe you can live with the humandrills.”

“Alone, eh? A queen without a consort?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, no, never. Shikkearu women are better off alone.”

“Hm,” he grunted, “I know a woman like that myself.”

He poured himself one more glass of wine and watched as she slipped off to sleep in the armchair. It seemed his dinner had mostly been a success. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed—he’d missed his evening newspaper deliveries from the News Coo seagulls. After finishing the remainder of his glass, he stood and announced, “Oi, hime-kun, I’m going to bed. Are you coming? To your room?” 

He trailed behind her closely up the stairs, monitoring her stumbling and feeling a bit responsible for it. Hopefully, she’d be able to hold her alcohol better tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/
> 
> This chapter's post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180100942156/through-the-fog-by-waskonedo-chapter-9-kampai
> 
> Mihawk's Ch 9 Wine Selections: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180101634131/through-the-fog-by-waskonedo-ch-9-kanpai


	10. Bounty Hunter

Kasumi awoke early to the sound of rain on her window. Sleeping through rainstorms was an ability she seemed to have lost during her time away from Kuraigana Island. She got dressed and descended the chilly staircase to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for two. 

She’d never needed to know how to cook until she moved to Water Seven. Henri’s wife, Odette, had taught her to make exotic North Blue dishes that she’d never tasted before during her years at Shikkearu Castle. After helping in the kitchen, Kasumi would quietly take her meals to her quarters in the barn, preferring to avoid the tension of being in the same room as Marius.

She gently rolled up two omelets and placed bowls of rice and soup on the table. Drawn in by the sounds and smells of breakfast, Mihawk strolled into the kitchen and sat down at the table.

“So you can make yourself useful?” he asked dryly.

“This is my family’s island. I don’t owe you anything,” she replied, “but… I do think I can make our arrangement more equitable.”

“Good,” he grunted. “…Eh, Shikkearu, my plans are to train and then tend to the garden once the skies clear a bit. Join me if… you think you have anything to offer…”

“Garden?” she guffawed, “You can’t garden on this island! Have you looked around? It’s too salty and muddy to garden here, _baka_.”

“That’s true,” he replied calmly, “and I began this endeavor with only potted plants. But that routine grew tedious, so I filled raised beds with imported soil and… now I keep a vegetable plot… _baka._ ”

Kasumi snorted. “Hm, I guess that could work. Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather spend this morning on my own.”

 “Suit yourself,” he replied.

\----

He walked lazily to the sparring room and leaned down to stretch his lean, taut legs. Flexing at the hips, he touched his knees with his head and brought his fingers to his feet, then slowly rose and awoke his arms with gentle circles. Yoru was waiting for him in an orange sunbeam, the black blade seeming to swallow any light that fell upon it. He grasped the sword and made his way toward the center of the room where he wielded it steadily in front of him and began his usual footwork repertoire.

Very slowly, he drew the sword forward over his head and across his invisible opponent, perceiving each muscle pull and push against the resistance of another. He repeated the motion thoughtfully until his shoulders were pulsing with blood and he’d performed it flawlessly dozens of times. Any mistake in form, no matter the magnitude, required him to begin his count anew. Once satisfied, he brought Yoru over his head in an arc, creating a small green spiral that gently glided out onto the patio and over the sea.

Following its path, he stepped onto the patio to begin the second part of his routine—strength training. His sword form and technique were unparalleled; the only room he had left for growth was in pushing his strength toward that of his mentors. He pulled his barbell from the floor, to his chest and over his head, looking out as rain fell into the endless sea. Focusing through the raindrops, he saw a small boat in the distance; some fool from Water Seven was probably fishing too far from shore, destined to become dinner for a Sea King.

A trickle of sweat ran down his temple, cooled by the breeze through the patio. His endurance was more potent than it had ever been, his form perfect. He grabbed the handles on his pulley weights and began to draw his arms back, his muscles rolling tightly under his flawless skin. His breath was strong and steady; no grunts or gasps dared escape his lips. The silence was interrupted only by the clinking of the weights with every repetition.

A tiny crinkle spread from his eye as he thought about how anyone, once taught correctly, should be able to learn to let the sword do the work for them, not swing it wildly like a piñata stick as Shikkearu had done yesterday. A frustrated amateur like her always swung too hard, too obviously, and too early once they’d realized they’d been beaten. She reminded him a bit of himself when he was younger, maybe 4 or 5 years old, filled to the brim with foolish bravado.  

He moved on to the dumbbells and sat stonefaced as he brought the weights to his chin. Despite his commitment to training, sometimes he wondered what was the point was getting stronger; he was untouchable. Even so… as the top swordsman, it was his duty to achieve his full potential, ensuring that any who took the title from him would truly deserve it. If he wasn’t constantly trying to improve, then the title meant nothing.

After shaking out his arms, he grasped two rubber balls and crushed them in his palms again and again until his forearms burned. Yoru took an incredible amount of grip strength to wield; using the bokken yesterday had felt like swishing a twig through the air.

The rain abruptly stopped, and he stood and placed Yoru on its holster on his back. Though he never truly needed the black sword around the house, wearing it strengthened his back and shoulders for the times when he did.

He wiped his brow and flapped some air into his shirt. Heading out the back door, he saw Kasumi walking over the east drawbridge with a small bundle.

“Oi! Ay! Where are you going?”

“Just taking a walk,” she sang.

“What’s that in your hands?”

“Oh, this? Just a little something for the humandrills…”

“What? Don’t give my food to humandrills! They have a fine selection of foods in the swamp!”

“It’s just a little,” she protested, “You can take it out of my dinner.” 

“Stupid girl,” he muttered. Who did she think she was?

He jumped down to the garden and began to inspect the vegetable plot, picking out obvious weeds and checking each plant for signs of insects or damage. His first year on the island, he’d been plagued with birds who took advantage of the easy pickings. He’d eventually been able to thwart them with the use of a bit of netting he’d rigged onto a small frame. Only one stubborn little bird had been able to fight its way into the enclosure, helping itself to the bounty within and wasting his harvest. That detestable bird had seemed able to infiltrate any of his defenses and feast on whatever it wanted, without consideration for the careful planning and effort on his part. Severing its neck had been delightful.

He dug some shallow holes and tossed in the peels from last night’s dinner, covering them up with a little tap from his trowel. In this place, everything needed all the extra help it could get. The dirt packed into his fingernails and accumulated into a cast on his hands. The soil might not be from this place, but the land was his. Once the season changed, he’d plant winter vegetables like cabbage and daikon, deliberately cultivating each plant to his satisfaction, entirely in control.

\----

“Chochan! Takkun! Humandrills, come out! I have a treat for you!” Kasumi called sweetly. She could sense that they’d been staying close to the castle, probably wondering what happened to her after she disappeared two nights ago. She sat down and tried speaking without her voice, _“Mina-san, come out. It’s safe now.”_

Takeo arrived first, holding his Yoru-like sword ahead of him, his eyes darting about looking for Mihawk. _“It’s alright. I won’t let him hurt you.”_ She knew that the monkeys couldn’t understand her words, but they could always perceive her intent and her emotions. She held out a piece of castella cake in her palm and offered it to him. _“I told you I wouldn’t forget you.”_

The primate swallowed the piece of cake whole and his eyes widened. It had been so long since he’d tasted something so sweet and soft! Kasumi grinned and patted his hairy shoulders. Choco appeared from the mangroves, followed by a small pack of curious humandrills. She distributed what cake she had left, along with chin scratches and belly rubs. _“Sorry, that’s all I have,”_ she thought, holding up her empty hands, _“I’ll bring you some more when I can.”_

She began to daydream about the arbor she’d build for them someday, maybe even a little platform for them to sleep on and take shelter from the rain. She laughed to herself as she imagined building little humandrill houses atop the curly hills. A humandrill village! Once they trusted her again, she could have them do the heavy lifting while she did the construction. She really could be the humandrill-hime, and forget all this business of duty, of swordfighting, and of Shichibukais.

Her fantasy was interrupted by a motion that caught her eye—a small boat was approaching the island in the distance. Why would anyone come here?

_“Who’s there? Go away.”_

The figure on the boat stood and waved at her. Dammit, it was Henri! Was it Thursday already? How could she have forgotten? What would she tell him? That she had moved into the castle of the Shichibukai he’d warned her about? Maybe she could pretend she was still living in the tent? No, he’d never buy it. The tent was in tatters and none of her belongings were inside it. She’d need to convince Henri that she was in control of the situation and keep him from getting involved. Once he met Mihawk, he’d probably start a fight– dammit! Mihawk!  

She raced back to the castle as quickly as she could—she needed to be the one leading this introduction. She blasted across the drawbridge and cut through the yard toward the back of the castle, guessing that the garden was somewhere nearby. Suddenly, it dawned on her that she had no idea how to call out to him. Dracule-sama? Taka no Me-san? Shichibukai-sama? Mr. Dracule? Hey, you? 

She settled on the simplest answer. “Mihawk-san! Mihawk-san, are you here? Hello? I need to talk to you! Mihawk-san!”

“Oi, quiet down!” he grumbled, standing up from the garden and dusting his hands on his knees. “It’s not necessary to run around screeching like a mockingbird every time you—”

“Ah, excuse me,” she panted, “but it seems that Henri is approaching by boat.” Her panic became acutely obvious as she blurted, “He’s a very reasonable man and I’m sure that he won’t mind that I’m staying here, but if you could just let me talk to him a bit and help smooth over your introduction…”

“Are you referring to the pathetic rowboat to the north? I’ve watched it for hours already. If he is as weak as his pace belies, he’ll be no trouble for me,” he replied coolly.

“Please, just let me speak to him before you make yourself known. I don’t want a fight. Please,” she spouted.

He waved his hand at her to go ahead, and she began to jog towards the boat. By the time she’d intercepted Henri, he was headed for the eastern shore.

_“Oi, Henri! Don’t go so far! I’m up here!”_

As the boat started to curve towards the rocky coast, Kasumi began to rehearse what she would tell him: Everything is fine; everything will continue to be fine; I’m not going back to Water Seven; Oh? Him? He’s no one. Just a nice guy who’s letting me stay here.

Henri landed the boat and tied off to a nearby boulder. _“Salut,_ Hime-sama, what are you doing up here?” he asked, unloading a canvas sack.

She gave him a cheerful hug. “Hi, Henri, it’s so good to see you again! Everything is going well and I’m doing quite fine on my own, as you can see.”

“That’s excellent to hear, Hime-sama _._ I worried about you when I saw that storm on the horizon the night before last. I’ve brought you some supplies... where’s your tent?”   

She swallowed and began to explain her circumstances as delicately as possible. “Well, it didn’t make it through the storm.”

“So where are you sleeping?”

“Oh, um, in Hiroshi’s castle,” she answered nonchalantly.

“It was vacant?” he asked, relieved.

Kasumi thought for a long while. What was the point in lying about it now? He’d find out sooner or later. She chided herself for not coming up with a better story by now.

“Henri, please listen. There … there’s a man on the island. He’s quite strong and he—”

“You don’t mean?”

“Yes, the Shichibukai Taka no Me.”

Henri grabbed his sabre and sprung forward. “And he’s here right now?”

“Yes, I’m sure he’s watching us now. But, Henri,” she added, gently leading him toward the drawbridge, “he’s been nice enough to allow me to stay in a spare room. It’s really not so bad and he’s been quite kind—”

“Ohime-sama!” Henri bellowed, “You cannot live in that man’s castle! He’s a Shichibukai! And a monster! He’ll kill you before you can even—”

“Henri, please listen. I can make my own judgments about people and this is my decision.” _She can do as she sees fit._

“Hime-sama, I’m sworn to protect you. Your father would have wanted you to stay with me— ”

A cloud of anger rushed through her. “My father’s not here! No one is! I’m directing my life now as I wish! I won’t live hiding in a barn anymore!”

“ _Iya_ , you stay in my guest room now.”

Kasumi slid in the mud as she spun to face Mihawk. Her frantic thoughts came too quickly to screen. _“Please don’t kill Henri. He’s very protective of me and he’s a good man with a family and he loves me and he’s just doing his job. Just let me deal with this and leave him alone. Please. I don’t want him to be hurt. Just go now.”_

“Fortier, is it?” Mihawk deadpanned.

Henri eyed the imposing figure who stood before him in a billowing cutaway overcoat, with a face as stern and cold as the great sword on his back.

The younger man looked genuinely disappointed. “I expected someone more… put together.”

Henri looked down at his own tattered pants and sweat-stained shirt, his scuffed boots covered in mud already. “Just what do you want with Princess Kasumi?”

“Eh, nothing in particular,” Mihawk replied. “…From time to time… flotsam, jetsam, and castoff objects arrive on my shore. When they’re interesting to me, I preserve them.”

“And what does that mean, ‘preserve them’?”

“She’s alive, isn’t she?”

“Alive?” Henri scoffed, “Do you realize who this girl is?!”

“Eh, she’s no more to me than any of the other lost pups who deign to challenge me… I’d say ‘alive’ is a fine state for her to be in considering the current situation.”

Kasumi laughed nervously as she reached for Henri’s forearm. “Henri, of course he knows who I am. We’ve gotten to know each other and he’s treated me quite kindly. He’s an excellent host.”

Henri scowled as he sheathed his sword, maintaining eye contact with Mihawk while allowing Kasumi to grasp his hand.

“Come into the castle and we’ll talk it over,” she suggested. “You need to rest.”

They started over the drawbridge, Mihawk leading by a good distance but listening intently as Henri tried to convince Kasumi that she’d made a mistake.

“Hime-sa—Kasumi-chan, come back with me,” he whispered harshly. “This is not a good idea. You’re in danger! And what are those bandages?! Did you try to fight him?”

“No, of course not!” she smiled, “I had a bit of trouble with the humandrills, that’s all. Mihawk was kind enough to rescue me from the storm. He’s been very welcoming and I believe he’ll let me stay here for the time being while I train in exchange for some household chores.”

Henri’s whisper became a roar. “You’re a princess, not a servant! I won’t have you slaving away in some murderer’s castle! And what happened to your arm? It’s bleeding through.”

“Like I said, I had some trouble with the humandrills. Seems not all of them remember me,” she laughed.

They entered the castle and stood on the foyer floor where Kasumi had been dumped the first night. Mihawk disappeared into the hallway but stayed within listening distance. He considered serving tea, but it seemed that Fortier wasn’t in the mood.

“Kasumi, listen,” Henri pleaded, lowering his voice once he noticed the echo inside the sparse castle. “Do you realize that this is the place your father died? The place where he made me promise with his dying words to take care of you?”

 _“You think I don’t know that?”_ she shot back silently. _“I’m moving forward from now on. There’s no use in dwelling on what happened then. Besides, I’m strong! Remember those bounties I caught?”  
_

“Hime-sama, forgive me, but you know damn well that I’m the only reason you survived those bounties. You might have caught the small fry, but those last three men nearly killed you! You were almost shot in the back alleys of Water Seven and left like a mangy dog. You’re no bounty hunter! I saved you then, let me save you now!”

“I’m tired of being saved! Let me stand on my own!” She pushed a thought to him: _Let her do what she wants. I’m her servant. I’m sworn to obey her._

“Hime-sama,” he hissed, “you know that won’t work on me now. I’ve resisted stronger Shikkearu than you.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Henri, I know you have. I just need you to trust me. I won’t go back to Water Seven. I’m staying here.” She pressed her head against his chest. _I need to trust her._

“I suppose I need to trust you,” he conceded.

Kasumi smiled. “Thank you, Henri, you’ve always taken such good care of me. Won’t you sit down for a minute?”

Henri cautiously followed her into the great room, where Mihawk was seated reading a newspaper. The last time he’d been in this room was the night he’d lost his best friend, his son, his most promising pupils, and his purpose in life. Preventing the Shikkearu from killing each other had proven an impossible task.

Kasumi cheerfully excused herself to get Henri a drink. _“Mihawk, don’t screw this up while I’m gone.”_

Without lowering his paper, Mihawk asked, “So you’re the man who trained her?”

“Yes,” Henri replied proudly. “She’s my best pupil.”

“…And you believed her ready to come here on her own?”

Henri raised his chin. “What the princess wants is my command. I trust her completely.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Footsteps approached and Kasumi appeared with a glass of ice water.

“Ah, thank you, Hime-sama. Have you kept up your training?”

She tugged affectionately at his hand. “Yes, Henri, of course. I learn more every day.” _That’s my girl._

“That’s my girl. You’ll have to show me what you’ve been working on.”

"Oh, of course!” she grinned. “But maybe next time—I’m afraid I’m not up for a spar today. How’s Odette? And Marius?”

Henri sighed and leaned back. “Fine, fine. I’m sure they’ve missed you around the house.”

Kasumi nodded. “And how’s work?”

“Tough, but steady,” he replied. “Tom’s Workers is importing so many strange and exotic woods that we never have space for regular cargo deliveries anymore. But money’s money, and Tom’s a fair client.” He took a long drink of water. “Easy-going guy, that one.”

Henri looked at Kasumi and then at Mihawk, who was still buried in the newspaper. Placing his hands on the sofa beside her, he mouthed, “Are you really okay?”

_“Yes, I can handle this. I’m in one of the safest places in the Grand Line!”_

Henri gave her an incredulous look.

She looked back at him with a gentle smile and squeezed his hand firmly. _Yosh’ it’s time for me to go._

He stood and stretched. “Yosh’ it’s time for me to go. I told Odette I’d be back by dinner. Will you see me off?”

“Ah, of course I will,” she replied, her voice echoing flatly.

Mihawk lowered the newspaper and nodded, “Fortier.”

He nodded back, “Taka no Me.”

Kasumi walked Henri to his boat, reassuring him along the way as she told him about the lovely dinner Mihawk had prepared and his clever idea for the vegetable garden.

They stopped on the shore and locked eyes as he handed her a den den mushi. “Against my better judgment, Kasumi-chan, I trust you in this. Please call out to me on this snail if you ever need me. Otherwise, I’ll be back in two weeks. _A bientôt._ ” He bowed and shoved off toward Water Seven.

She watched as the boat shrank into the distance, disappearing into the fog.

Back inside the castle, she plopped down into one of the enormous great room chairs.

“That man is a fool,” Mihawk announced.

“He’s a good person. He’s very loyal to my father.”

“Humandrill-hime, no man in his right mind would leave a wounded girl alone on an island with Dracule Mihawk.”

“I changed his mind for him,” she admitted.

Mihawk folded the newspaper and set it on the table. “He said your power doesn’t work on him.”

“Sometimes it doesn’t. It works better when I touch him.” She twisted up her lips. “He doesn’t realize what’s happened when it works. Well, um, sometimes he realizes later, but by then I’ve usually gotten what I want…”  

“Hm,” he grunted. “And you can do that to anyone?”

Kasumi began to squirm. “Well, I don’t _like_ to use it on him. It can bring a certain amount of …tension… to the relationship. But using it on enemies and fools, like the bounties I caught in Water Seven—”

“He said you didn’t catch any bounties in Water Seven.”

Kasumi slapped the table between them. “That’s not true! I caught three thieves and then a few days later I brought down the one of the biggest bounties in town… Henri helped me some towards the end though.”

Mihawk cocked his head. “That man said you were nearly killed… What you told me was a lie.”

“That wasn’t a lie. That was a bluff. Same as you saying you’d kill me.”

“Bah, that’s different. I’m… actually capable of killing you... And if you try to manipulate me with your witchcraft, I will.”

She left without saying a word and he resumed reading the news. Could she have already gotten to him? No, he’d spent his entire life steeling his mind. Just to be safe though, he needed to keep her at a distance until his next visitor arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/
> 
> Let's hypothesize about what it's like to grow up on the Grand Line in this chapter's post!  
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180232261121/through-the-fog-by-waskonedo-chapter-10-bounty


	11. Capricieuse

Mihawk folded the newspaper and made his way to the kitchen to prepare a late afternoon lunch. His knife moved imperceptibly quickly as he made a pile of sliced vegetables and began filling two sandwiches, mulling over the remaining questions he had for Kasumi.

When she didn’t find her way to the kitchen, he called out, “Shikkearu, lunch!” his voice bouncing off the hollow castle’s stone walls. He waited a short while, then ate his meal alone, deciding that she’d forfeited her lunch as penance for giving the humandrills his leftover cake. As he wrapped up the extra sandwich and placed it in the fridge, he noticed her standing in the spitting mist at the shore, hurling rocks into the sea. “Capricious woman,” he mumbled. His questions could wait until her storm subsided; for now, his main concern was his postponed nap.

Kasumi stood on the shore and chucked another stone as far as she could; her shoulder moved like a door with a busted hinge. Henri had exposed her story about the bounties. She hurled another rock over the water to drown. And Mihawk had called her gift witchcraft. So what if she _had_ tried to use it on him? It wasn’t like she’d been able to change his mind anyway. She threw another, feeling a tearing sensation as she brought her arm around. His mind had felt like lead; if it’d worked, she would’ve used it yesterday when he nearly beat her to death! She tried throwing with her other hand, only to see the stone pathetically plunk into the wake. Disgusted, she went inside through the back door and sat on the floor of her room.    

Looking through the bag Henri had brought, she found a package of fishing hooks, a few firestarters, some dried meat, a sack of rice, a box of wafer cookies, a change of clothes, two books, and some cigarettes. Leave it to Henri to indulge her worst habits while thinking of her safety and comfort! At the bottom of the sack, there was a strange, carefully wrapped bundle bearing a tag with Odette’s handwriting: “for Kasumi-chan.” It was tampons. “Gee, thanks, Odette,” she mumbled.

The bed squeaked as she lay down to rest. So what if Mihawk thought she was a fraud? Or a witch? He hadn’t killed her; he hadn’t killed Henri. The situation was salvageable. She could still convince him that she was useful to him, wait him out, and claim this castle once he was killed. If anything, this was a good opportunity for her to have a safe place to train her mind and body until the island was hers. The likelihood of him dying anytime soon seemed slim, so she’d need to find a way of cohabitating with him, even for a few years if need be. At the moment, it seemed like a good idea just to close her eyes for a minute.

Kasumi awoke several hours later than she’d intended, covered in an oily sweat. The room was freezing, and she’d wadded the sheets around her neck in an attempt to stay warm. She washed her face, wrapped her shoulder, and wandered downstairs to find Mihawk in the kitchen. 

“Shikkearu, it seems you’ve decided to join me at last.”

“Mm, I suppose it’s time for dinner then?” Seeing an opening to prove her usefulness. she added, “Can I help you with anything?”

“Eh, no,” he muttered. “I’m only preparing dinner for myself. Your dinner is your lunch in the fridge.”

Kasumi found a covered plate inside the refrigerator and brought it to the table as Mihawk slid his dinner into a large platter. Inside was a sandwich and a Yoru-shaped pickled cucumber. She playfully pointed it at him while it folded limply in half, “Cute.”

“It would have been more fresh were you present at lunch,” he said flatly, snapping the legs off a small crab. “Tell me, what was so… disdainful about living with Fortier… that you’d rather take your chances on this island with me?”

“I told you, that was unsustainable.”

“Hm… and what… made it unsustainable?” He popped open the crab leg to expose the white flesh beneath. “It appears that he cares for you as a daughter… and you were able to convince him to do as you wished.”

“I was living in a _barn_ ,” she responded, “And his son, Marius, we… didn’t get along.”

Mihawk raised his eyebrows in mock concern. “Aw, soured romance, hime-kun?”

“Shut your mouth,” she said between bites. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

He twisted his fork into the crab. “No matter the cause that compelled you to leave, was it… worth the pain you’ve endured since you insisted on coming here?”

“My freedom is worth any pain,” she snapped. “I need to find my potential. I’m ready to step out on my own.”

“By freeloading off me?” he shot back.

“You weren’t supposed to be here.”

He rolled a puddle of wine in his mouth and swallowed it thoughtfully. “Tell the truth, humandrill-girl. Either you came here because you’re too weak to stand on your own in the world, or because Fortier wanted to be rid of you.”

Kasumi’s eyes flashed. “Fate called me here! I’m supposed to rebuild a kingdom but there’s not enough… I’m not ready yet! I’m not… really a bounty hunter.” Hot, silent tears began to slide down her cheeks. “But what do you know about it? You’re just some bastard who acts tough. Everything is easy for you!”

She hesitated, expecting her comment to enrage him. Her strategy of getting on his good side had been dashed by her temper.

Instead, Mihawk calmly moved on to eating a potato, keeping his eyes down and his voice steady. “Everything comes easily to me because I’ve worked hard, _princess_.”

“And you think I haven’t?” she cried, “I know what hard work is too!”

He looked at her skeptically. “Those such as you are accustomed to finding the easiest path in any endeavor…”

Her hand reached for her cutlass before her mind could stop it. She paused, her palm cupped over the hilt.

“Eh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you… You really do have a nasty temper, Shikkearu,” he chided.  

Her blood was pounding. “It comes with the territory. When no one ever believes you, you tend to be a little testy.”

He swallowed and offered an understanding grunt. Holding his glass in front of him, he paused the conversation to swirl another gulp of wine before tossing it back. “Have you ever read the account of Noland the Liar? Even though no one believed him, he—”

“Yes, of course I have,” she interrupted. “Henri comes from North Blue, remember? Besides, that’s just a children’s story, and Noland was a fool. If he was telling the truth, he should’ve just struck down everyone who disputed him. He could have proven them all wrong anyway. There’s no reason to suffer fools.”

He held his wine in his mouth a good while before swallowing. “What if those fools determine your fate?”

“That doesn’t mean they’re not fools,” she retorted. “Look, it’s been a long day for me, and a long day yesterday. I’d like to take a bath and go to bed.”

“All you do… is eat and sleep,” he mocked.

“What else is there to do around here?” she snapped. “Why do you even stay here?”

“Bah, it’s usually quite peaceful.”

Kasumi washed her plate in silence and left the kitchen to climb upstairs to the third-floor bath. Once she’d rinsed off and the bath was warm, she entered the tub and opened the thinnest of the books Henri had sent. It was a romance she’d read a few years ago about a fishman who fell in love with a human. Placing a hot towel over her shoulder before settling in, she quickly found herself immersed in another world.

Downstairs, Mihawk cleaned up his dinner and retired to the great room with his newspapers and a couple of bottles of wine, looking forward to enjoying the type of evening he’d had before the little rabbit showed up. A quarter-page ad for the Tom’s Workers Company caught his eye; it seemed that they were hiring more shipwrights. They touted their modern construction methods and exotic woods, calling themselves “The World’s Foremost Shipbuilders.” Mihawk scoffed; exotic wood was extravagant and unnecessary. His coffin boat was perfect the way she was—he’d built her himself from the Yarukiman mangrove trees on Sabaody!

He poured another glass of wine, _Tinto Douro_ this time, and briefly wondered if Kasumi had already tried manipulating his thoughts. Even if she had, his haki would’ve prevented it. If he could stand up to Akagami’s haki, then there was no chance she could affect him. Most assuredly not! Still… it might be… interesting to put her to the test.

Kasumi refreshed the warm towel on her shoulder and began a new chapter of the well-worn novel. After a rocky start, the fishman and the human were putting aside their prejudices and seeing each other for who they truly were.

The rest of the story was as she remembered: the girl was taken hostage by a group of fishmen who almost sold her into slavery, but the fishman boy rescued her and they ran away together, leaving everything behind, sustained only by their love. Despite knowing the trite and predictable ending, she couldn’t put it down, briefly forgetting about her shoulder, her duty, Mihawk, Henri, and her current predicament while she settled into the familiar routine of enjoying a quick romance tale.

A knock on the door snapped her back to reality.  

“Yes?” she asked mid-startle.

“Shikkearu,” came an emotionless drone, “Some towels and a robe are here by the door. I expect you in the morning for breakfast… That’s all.”

She closed the book and snatched up the towels and robe, checking it for Hiroshi’s monogram, but finding nothing. Stepping into the frigid hallway, she hurried to her bedroom, where she rewrapped her bandages, changed into her nightgown, and braided her wet hair. She tried to finish the book, but sleep snuck up on her like a slow tide, and she felt safe for a while longer.

The next morning at breakfast, Mihawk stirred his soup and mulled over a small piece of paper before casually announcing, “Shikkearu, I overheard you tell Fortier that I would allow you to stay here in exchange for chores.”

“Oh… I didn’t realize you were listening,” she grumbled.

“I’m always listening,” he said plainly. “Specifically… what domestic skills do you possess? …If you were to stay?”

Kasumi seethed. Did he really envision her a maid? She had important training to do! Still, she needed to bide her time until the castle would be hers. If he’d allow her to stay a while, then… “Well, I helped Henri’s wife with cooking and cleaning… I can tend to horses, chickens, and yagara bulls… I can sew… I can garden…”

He began making checkmarks on his list. “Can you fish?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Chop firewood?”

“Yes.”

“Clean the cistern?”

Kasumi’s face went blank. “The what now?”

“The tank on top of the castle that stores rainwater. It needs to be serviced twice a year when the seasons change, which is nearly upon us.”

“Uh, no,” she stumbled, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just thought the water came out from the ground.”

“Seems that you missed that part of living in the swamp, princess… Well, I suppose you can learn… Could you sail to Water Seven and shop for groceries and supplies?”

“I guess if I had an eternal pose—wait, you mean like in a market?” She felt blood fill her cheeks. “Um, actually I’ve never been shopping. I’ve received deliveries from the feed store…” her voice trailed off.

“It’s not that difficult. You could certainly learn. Do you have any skills in carpentry? Masonry?”

She was growing embarrassed. “Well, I’ve never done that sort of thing, but if you show me I’m sure I can.”

“So… it seems you primarily have the household skills of a child? And you thought you could take over this castle? Kukukukuku!” he laughed.

Kasumi was offended, but he was right; she grew up having everything provided for her. “I lived as a princess for fourteen years, and I think I’ve learned a great deal since then,” she replied defensively.

“Humph. Well, it’s a start, anyways,” he said, sliding the paper to the side as he stood. “ _Yosh’_ , it’s time for morning training. You can join me if you wish.”

She followed him to the sparring room, her last experience there still fresh in mind. Her initial sense of dread faded once she realized that he didn’t intend to spar with her today, instead leaving her to train on her own, occasionally chastising her form and offering advice from the patio.

As Mihawk’s critiques grew increasingly incisive, Kasumi began to boil with embarrassment and anger. Henri’s corrections were always gentle and friendly, spoken with a fatherly tone, not the curt, barking criticism she heard now. She briefly imagined shoving the Shichibukai off the patio, but instead managed, “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

The air was crisp and wet outside, and the earth was still soft from the morning rain. She breathed in deeply: this was her land, her air, her island. Once that man was dead, everything would fall into place. She resolved to keep up her training, stay clear of Mihawk, and bide her time.

After preparing a quick lunch for two of noodles and vegetables, eaten in near-silence, she returned to the sparring room to train on her own while Mihawk napped. Her shoulder felt better today and her wrists moved quickly and smoothly as she battled imaginary opponents from all sides. Finding her confidence, she began to think that this arrangement with Mihawk could work. Satisfied with the day’s work, Kasumi finished her book in the sitting room, relishing the satisfying ending to the romance.

Mihawk served stew for dinner, remarking that the weather this time of year required it. Kasumi complimented it politely, though she thought it had far too many turnips. She was trying her best to hold firm to her decision to make the best of things; maybe tomorrow she could find some chores to do around the castle, perhaps some laundry or light dusting or even—

“Shikkearu, have you been attempting to manipulate my thoughts?” The question cut through the air like a slash from his sword, coming from nowhere and ending as soon as it began.

“No,” she countered. “…well, maybe on the first night, but it’s like there’s something in the way,” she said, blowing on her stew.

“And what’s that?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted sheepishly, “It feels like a solid wall and it sounds like wind. Maybe if I touched you, and maybe if it was an idea you were already considering, I could do it, but…”

“But what?”

Kasumi didn’t want to admit that she was reluctant to try it again because she wanted to see his honest reactions; no one had ever been so straightforward with her without an ulterior motive. “I guess I’d rather not influence your opinion of me,” she whispered.  

He hesitated; was this another ruse? “I want you to try to change my mind. I want to see if you can do it. Can you try tonight? After dinner?” he asked, offering her a slice of melon.

“Well, it won’t be the same if you’re expecting it…” She looked away and pressed her teeth into the sweet green fruit. “It’s when you don’t expect it that it works best, at least until I can develop further.”

Mihawk stared at her icily. “Eh, trusting you will be impossible until I can be certain.”

She laughed, “Mmhmhmhm, I’m used to not being trusted.”

After dinner, she followed him to the great room, where two bottles of _Cabernet Sauvignon_ were waiting on the table. After starting a fire, he poured them each a full glass and sat down beside Kasumi on the sofa, eager to test her ability. “Try it,” he said firmly.

She grasped his solid hand in hers. “What should I try? To convince you to let me stay? To tell you to squawk like a chicken? To tell you to leave this island and never return?”

He rolled his eyes and took a drink. “Don’t tell me what it is beforehand, Shikkearu. Just do it. Proceed.”

“Alright,” she scolded, “let me think.”

Mihawk felt nothing for a few seconds, then a faint buzzing noise grew in his mind. He waited on it to intensify, but it remained constant, only a slight annoyance over the crackle of the fire. “I don’t feel anything,” he announced.

“Let me try something else,” she said, holding her cheek against the ruffled shirt over his chest.

The buzzing noise grew stronger, but he found it surprisingly easy to disregard and felt no motivation to act or think anything out of the ordinary. “Is this the extent of your power?” he asked.

Kasumi wrapped her arms around his wide back and pressed firmly against his heart. Even if he’d been expecting it, he should have felt some effect by now. She heard blood pulse through her temples as she exerted her mind to the fullest, willing him to think what she thought, to do what she asked.

“Shikkearu, I don’t feel anything. I’m not sure you can affect me this way,” he pronounced, pulling away from her. “This isn’t working. It’s just a buzzing sound.”

She collapsed backwards into the sofa, her chin coming to rest on her sternum. “You don’t feel anything?”

“ _Iya,_ ” he replied, visibly disappointed. “Are you certain you can improve?”

“Once I awaken my gift, I’ll be able to hear others’ thoughts and make them follow my will,” she said proudly.

Mihawk leaned back and propped his feet onto the table, bringing his glass to his lips. “And how long will that take?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Hm,” he grunted, “Humandrill-hime, eh, I’m expecting a visitor tomorrow who will… help me decide what to do with you.

Kasumi’s lip raised in disgust. “What more is there to know? I’ve told you everything! I’ve answered all your questions! Don’t you trust your own judgment?”

“Of course I do,” he mumbled, “but she has a certain talent for seeing people for who they are… no matter what sort of story they’ve managed to dream up.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's Tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180358713866/through-the-fog-by-waskonedo-chapter-11
> 
> I started a new blog series, "Mihawk's Wine Selections," where I'll write more about the wines in this fic. Check it out! https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180358751006/read-ch-11-capricieuse-on-ao3-chapter-11


	12. Nabe

The next morning, Mihawk skipped his early post-training nap and reclined on the eastern balcony in his heavy coat, keeping a sleepy eye on the sea. He didn’t want to miss her approach, especially since she’d agreed to come on such short notice.

Kasumi took care of the morning dishes while wondering who this visitor was who might cause Mihawk to skip one of his precious naps. A girlfriend? A sister? Another Shichibukai? Even worse, what if it was an official from the World Government who hadn’t realized that any of the Shikkearu had lived? She wasn’t ready to make her debut—or to expose the fact that she’d been unable to reclaim the island.

She took advantage of his absence to train privately in the sparring room, even trying out the dumbbells and pulley weights. No matter who was coming, she still needed to focus on her training. One of these days, the castle would be hers and she’d have to defend it on her own. When the sun was nearing its apex, she noticed a medium-sized ship on the horizon, two white sails straining toward Kuraigana Island. A dark pink flag with a black design waved from the mast.

Kasumi gasped when a black and maroon blur soared past the patio. Rushing to the window, she saw Mihawk alight on the ground and walk lazily toward the shoreline. She watched as he tied off the ship on the dock at the rear of the castle near his own boat, pitching the thick docklines as if they were bits of string. A slim, dark-haired woman furled the sails before tossing Mihawk two large trunks and descending the walkway.

Once on the dock, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, twisting his hair around her fingers. “So good to see you, Mikkun,” she whispered.

Mihawk stiffened and cringed. “Ugh.”

“Ahahahaha,” she chuckled, “I’m sorry, I just haven’t seen you in so long!” She smiled sweetly and followed him into the castle, instructing him to bring the trunks into the kitchen. He effortlessly hoisted one over each shoulder; rich brown and burgundy leather, gold latches with floral designs, and a strange crest embossed into the top of each trunk piqued Kasumi’s interest. They looked as if they might have come from some antique shop in a fantasy novel!

Kasumi crept through the east wing, curious to find out more about the woman who had such a comfortable relationship with Mihawk that she could dote on the world’s strongest swordsman, twirl his hair, and boss him around. She heard the clunk of a trunk being unlatched as the woman started to describe the gifts she’d brought.

“This is a _Gran Reserva Carménère_ that I think you’ll like, and this one is a _Bonarda_ that might be a little too fruity for you, but you should taste it anyway.” The bottles clinked gently on the stone countertops. “Now _this_ one—actually, I just got this in—and it’s a _Mourvedre_ , so you’ll need to decant it and chill it just a little. This varietal _Sagrantino_ has been very popular lately, and this _Barolo Riserva_ is absolute perfection. Now this _Feteasca Neagra_ you’ll really like—”

“Shikkearu, are you going to keep sneaking around or are you capable of introducing yourself?” Mihawk called out impatiently.

Kasumi’s cheeks burned as she stepped into the kitchen. “Oh, excuse me, um…”

“Is this her?” the woman softly smiled and offered her hand. “I’m Shakuyaku, but please call me Shakky. I’m Mihawk’s mother.”

The princess nodded and shook her hand. “Shikkearu Kasumi. Nice to meet you.” She glanced at the woman, wondering how someone with such a friendly face could possibly be the mother of a sadist like Dracule Mihawk. Quickly comparing their features, she realized that they could be related, but the woman looked much too young...

“You’re Mihawk’s mother? You could pass for a sister!”

Shakky smiled and laughed, “Ufufufu, that’s what 23 years of living in the Sabaody shade does for you, I suppose! That, and plenty of good wine. Now, have you two had lunch? I could stand to eat a bite.”

Mihawk hurriedly pulled back a chair at the kitchen table. “ _Hahaue*_ , sit down. I’ll get you something.”

She waved her hand toward the seat. “No, no, I can cook for my son. And you too, _Shikkearu-chan_. Let me see your pantry. Have you been able to find everything you need at Water Seven?”

“Yes. I have some vegetables ready in the garden as well,” he said, swinging open the door to the well-stocked pantry. “But… you must sit down and allow me to prepare your meal, Hahaue. You must be tired.”

Kasumi was astounded. Dracule Mihawk had a mother? A nice mother? And he treated her well? The idea struck her nearly as hard as his blows from the bokken.

_“You’ve got to be kidding me, Taka no Me, you seriously called your mom to come check on me?”_

He shot her a look that could’ve frozen seawater.

Shakky smiled pleasantly. “Nonsense, I miss cooking for you! You kids relax and I’ll have lunch ready in just a few minutes. Besides, you need to finish unpacking my trunk. There’s more in there for you, my dear.”

He peered inside the crate and gradually brought out a bundle of books, a few chocolate bars, two satin shirts, some dried beans, and a strange seashell.

“Oh, your father picked that up somewhere. Some girl probably gave it to him, ufufufu. He says it’s a sound dial; it will hold sounds and repeat them when you press the button. I haven’t tried it yet, but I thought you might like it,” she giggled.

Within a half hour Shakky had whipped up a feast for lunch, serving the three of them a delicious meal of fish with vegetables, rice, pickles, and soup. As she chatted away about the latest news from Sabaody, Kasumi noted the similarities in their piecey black hair, pointed noses, slender lips, square jaws, and dramatic eyebrows; only their eyes were different. Mihawk looked almost just like her—if she’d had all the joy sucked out.

Shakky laughed as she recorded her voice onto the dial. “Hellllooooo? Is anyone home?”

Mihawk picked it up curiously and looked it over. “These dials are a Skypiean invention. Did my father go back to Skypiea?”

“Skypiea exists?!” Kasumi interrupted, “I thought that was a legend!”

“The world’s much bigger than you know, Shikkearu,” he scolded.

Shakky smiled. “He could have picked it up anywhere. You see things from all over on Sabaody. You can never know who or what might show up!” She lit a cigarette and sat back as Mihawk cleared the dishes. “Shikke-chan, how long have you been here?”

“I arrived almost a week ago, and Mihawk took me in on my third night during a storm” she replied.

“And has my son been treating you well?” she asked, raising her eyebrow in an expression Kasumi had seen often over the past few days.

“Yes, of course,” she fibbed.

“Ahahahaha,” she chuckled, “I appreciate the effort you’re making, but I’m afraid his manners are a bit lacking. I hope he hasn’t frightened you too much. When you have a title like his, you tend to be suspicious of strangers who show up unexpectedly.”

“Hm,” Kasumi nodded.

Mihawk began to speak but was interrupted by Shakky, who announced that she’d love to have a nice bath after a day and a half at sea. “Shikke-chan, why don’t you join me? It will give us a chance to get to know one another.” She stood and straightened her jacket. “I think I remember where it is. Third floor, right? Mikkun _,_ would you take my things to my room?”

Kasumi was a bit taken aback, but a good soak sounded wonderful after her morning training, and the woman seemed harmless. She looked at Mihawk, who stood at the sink drying the last of the bowls. _“Your mother is such a nice person! How did she ever raise such a nasty man?”_

He glared and started toward her from across the kitchen, but she’d already disappeared up the stairs with Shakky. Besides, he had trunks to lug upstairs.  

The two women washed quietly as Shakky looked around the sparse bath. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid my son doesn’t know how to take care of young ladies. I brought my own soaps and mineral salts, and some good shampoo, too. I can leave them here for you when I leave.”

“So I can stay?” Kasumi asked excitedly.

“Ufufufu, that’s up to Mihawk in the end. But either way, you’re going to need more than a plain bar of soap! Men sometimes, eh?”

Kasumi washed and dressed the stab wound on her bicep and slid into the tub, taking care to hold the injury out of the bathwater.

Steam rose lazily over the bath as Shakky added some mineral salts and sat across from the princess in the tub. Placing her towel on her head, she closed her eyes and smiled. “So you come from the family who lived on this island?”

Kasumi sank down, attempting to soak her right shoulder while keeping her other arm out of the water. “Yes, I escaped the night the war ended.”

“Hm, I didn’t know anyone survived that war,” she remarked, her eyes still closed in relaxation.

“Just my father’s commander Henri and myself. He took me to his home on Water Seven.” She added awkwardly, “I’ve been living incognito in his barn.”

Shakky’s eyes opened. “His barn? Ufufufu! You poor thing! And then you came home to find Mihawk in your castle?”

She hesitated. “Actually, this isn’t my castle. It’s my uncle’s. My castle is… um, no longer standing.”

“Ah, I see. And do you possess your family’s talent?”

Pleased that someone from so far away would know about her gift, she said, “Yes… but it’s not quite powerful enough yet. _But someday, it will be!_ ”

Several minutes passed in silence while the two women soaked. Shakky lit a cigarette and blew the smoke up into the steam.

“Shikke-chan, those bruises…”

Kasumi looked down at the purple splotches that covered her arms and chest. “Oh, well, I suppose he and I were destined to fight, you know?” she shrugged.

“If you’ve survived this long, then he must see something in you.” She eyed the dozens of scars along Kasumi’s exposed skin. “It looks like you’ve been fighting a long time.”

“It’s what Shikkearu do.”

“Mm,” she exhaled, “and what do you hope to win?”

“I want to rebuild my family’s kingdom,” she replied.

“A noble goal! I believe you will, Shikke-chan.” She smiled and tapped her ashes into a cup. “But what do you plan to do about Mikkun?”

Kasumi paused, reluctant to tell Shakky that her ultimate goal was for her son to die in battle so she could have the island to herself. _“I think I can make myself useful around here while I train, and he can go out and fight until—”_

“So you want to wait him out? Ahahahaha! You’re just as stubborn as he is!” she laughed.

She patted Kasumi on the head as she exited the bath, then gave her some balm for her shoulder and demonstrated how to wrap it in a way that would let it heal. They dressed for dinner and returned downstairs, where Mihawk was still napping in the study, a half-eaten chocolate bar on the table beside him. Shakky went outside to the garden to gather vegetables for tonight’s dinner while the princess settled in with the other book Henri had brought, an adventure-fantasy about a man who lived alone on the moon.

Mihawk awoke in a bit and found Kasumi reading in the great room. “Did you enjoy your bath?” he asked mockingly. “My mother is much more tender than me, but she’s shrewd. If you spun your ‘bounty hunter’ tale—”

_“I didn’t lie. But of course, she didn’t try to kill me like you did, either. What exactly are you hoping to prove?”_

“Wahahaha! You’re the one with something to prove, humandrill girl _._ If she finds you untrustworthy, you’re going back to Water Seven.”

The tension was broken by Shakky calling from the kitchen, “It’s almost time for dinner, you two. We’re having _nabe!”_

They each carried their bowls to the dining room, where a portable stove sat on the table. Shakky took her proper seat at the table, the chair of honor Kasumi had neglected during her first dinner in the castle, while the princess sat down beside her. Mihawk offered a vague toast before they all began to help themselves to the stew. The first of many bottles of wine was opened, with Shakky providing a short lesson about each.

“Tell me about Sabaody,” Kasumi asked, “Is it really the last island before the New World? Do you live in a bubble? Do you have… slaves?”

“Ahahahaha!” Shakky laughed. “Well, yes, it’s the last stop before the New World, but it’s not really an island, just a collection of 79 trees. There are some bubble hotels, but no one actually lives in a bubble, though the World Nobles do wear them on their heads.” She took a long sip of wine, closing her eyes briefly the same way Mihawk did when he was pleased with a certain bottle, then added, “And no, I don’t have slaves. I find that whole situation abhorrent. Some of my best friends are fishmen and merfolk.” 

“What do you do there?” she pressed. “Is it crawling with pirates?”

Shakky stirred her chopsticks in the broth, looking for a slice of onion. “Yes, there are quite a few pirates, but they mostly stay in line due to the presence of the Marine base and the fact that they want to leave without being noticed. I run a bar, you may have heard of it, Shakky’s Rip Off Bar, where I—”

“—rip off drunk pirates,” Mihawk said, curling one side of his mouth into a smile.

“I serve fine food and drinks at prices commensurate with the experience,” she corrected him.

“Exactly,” he mumbled. “A rip off bar.”

“And that’s where you grew up, Mihawk?” Kasumi asked.

“Well, there, and with his senseis, and on the sea with his father,” Shakky replied.

Kasumi finished her meal and placed her chopsticks in the holder. “And your father? What does he do?”

Suddenly, Mihawk’s eyes narrowed. “That’s enough nosiness, humandrill-hime. I think you’re the one who’s supposed to be answering questions.”

Shakky smiled and lit a cigarette. “Yes, Shikke-chan, you’ll have to share your story with us after dinner. For now, how would you like some dessert? I made _dango.”_

“That sounds wonderful,” said Kasumi, eager to change the subject.

Shakky went to the kitchen while Mihawk’s eyes burned toward Kasumi’s.

_“What? I was just making conversation. I’ve answered all of your questions.”_

“Know your place, princess,” he seethed. “I hope you haven’t forgotten who’s in charge here.”

Kasumi sucked a gulp of wine through her teeth. Everything had seemed to be going so well; how was she to know that discussion of his father was off-limits? She pushed out her jaw and glared at him, not daring to say anything further.  

Shakky placed a platter of sweet dumplings on the table and sat back to finish her cigarette. Kasumi picked up one of each type, making sure to offer pleasant commentary on all of them. She complimented Shakky on the meal and cleared the dishes as mother and son selected wines to bring to the great room.

She washed the bowls and set the pot to soak, wiped down the table, and reminded herself of what she was after: If Shakky approved of her, then Mihawk would let her stay. Shakky was reasonable; all she needed to do was to tell her story honestly. She went upstairs to retrieve the cigarettes Henri had brought. This was going to be another long night.

When she returned to the great room, Mihawk had started a strong fire in the hearth and Shakky was in the middle of a story about the time she and Rayleigh had taken down a group of drunken Mock Town pirates. Kasumi listened politely until Shakky’s laughter died down and the only sounds were the snaps of the fireplace.

One by one, Shakky filled their glasses, ending with Kasumi’s, before leaning back and lighting a cigarette. “Shikke-chan, I’d like to hear your story.”

Kasumi pulled out her own cigarette and leaned forward with her forearms on her knees. “I think I should get it out of the way. After all, it’s why you came, isn’t it?” Shakky offered her lighter and Kasumi took a long drag, glancing at Mihawk’s skeptical face. “Um, I was born on this island in the southeastern castle. My parents were King Ryota and Queen Fumiko. I had an older sister and two older brothers...”

Slinking backward into the sofa, she drew another puff and continued. “Until I was ten years old, I lived a very good life...” She flexed her feet and worked her way into the part she knew they were waiting to hear. “Then, my father and uncle got into a long disagreement about our what our family should do. Papa wanted to take Water Seven with a surprise attack and seize control of the shipping routes—and he could have done it, if Hiroshi had cooperated,” she added proudly. “Instead, he wanted us to bide our time and spend years and years working on diplomacy and trade.” She took a long swig of wine, which seemed to pull every drop of moisture from her mouth.

She glanced at Shakky, who was listening politely, and Mihawk, who was frowning at his wine, before returning her gaze to her lap. “By the time I was fourteen, the situation had reached a stalemate and we were running out of supplies; no one would trade with us, and some of our servants were commuting from Water Seven rather than risking staying in their quarters overnight. It was awful. I never knew what was going to happen from one day to the next.”

Unconsciously rubbing her hands against each other, she got to the meat of the story. “One night—I don’t know why—my father and his guard came here, to Hiroshi’s castle, while our last troops stayed behind to guard my mother and me.”

She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice. “I don’t know what happened then, but something went wrong and Papa was overcome, Hiroshi’s men took our castle, and Henri brought me to Water Seven. Everyone on the island died that night. My brothers and sisters died in battle like all honorable Shikkearu, like I was supposed to.”

Pressing her cigarette into the stone ashtray, she tried to finish as succinctly as possible as her throat threatened to squeeze itself shut. “So Henri saved me and I lived in his house with his wife, Odette, but his younger son… we couldn’t get along. He blamed me for the death of his brother and, well, he’d never really trusted us anyway.” The fireplace hissed and popped, a small burst of flame landing on the stone floor. “So I lived in Henri’s barn until I couldn’t stand it anymore, tried and failed at bounty hunting, and now I’m here. This is my home.”

She looked up at the pair. Shakky was studying her face while Mihawk focused on the fire. “I know it’s not a very impressive story,” she rushed. “I should be a mind reader by now, right? Or at least a swordfighter who’s worth her salt.” She pulled her knees to her chest and then abruptly changed her mind. “I’d like to get some air if that’s alright. I haven’t put it all into words like that before.”

As she made her way toward the terrace at the rear of the castle, Shakky turned to Mihawk. “If you have any further questions to ask of her, now’s the time.”

Kasumi stood on the terrace overlooking the moat, her vision blurring despite her efforts to clear her eyes. She lit another cigarette and concentrated on her breath as the cold air rushed through her nose and throat. The terrace floor vibrated with heavy footsteps behind her.

_“I know. You don’t believe me. You wouldn’t. And that’s the curse my family has. Anything I say might be a lie. Anything you think might be a lie. Why do you think my family lived in this fucking swamp? Why were they outcast from the rest of the nobility? Why do you think they’re all dead? No one wants to get too close to someone who can change their thoughts.”  
_

He stood at the railing and slipped his hand into his coat pocket. “Hime-kun, what goal do you want to achieve? What did you come here to do?”

She wiped her eyes, frustrated that she couldn’t stop the tears from coming. “I just need to get stronger, to find my full potential, to awaken my gift—”

“But for what?” he interrupted. “What will you do once you’re strong? Be a pirate? A bounty hunter? Rule a kingdom of one?” He scoffed, “Conquer Water Seven?” 

Fog from the moat rose upward toward the terrace while tiny shards of mist began to fall upon their faces and glisten in their hair. “I just want to be worthy of my name and keep my family line alive. Can you imagine? Hundreds of years of Shikkearu and I’m what’s left.” 

Mihawk stared into the mangroves. “When I arrived on this island, there were still skeletons wearing armor, frozen in time with their weapons sunk into the corpses of their enemies. …Such meaningless destruction, the kind of deaths that have… no more importance than a pair of snakes who’ve strangled one another.” He sighed and leaned into the railing. “But… it appears that you were spared that end and found your way back here. If such an… unlikely fate has been bestowed on you, perhaps it’s better that you remain here a while.”

Shakky crossed onto the terrace. “I believe you, Shikke-chan.”

“You do?”

“Yes, of course. You’re either the world’s best liar or you’re telling the truth. And you’re not the world’s best liar, ufufufu! Besides, Henri’s name is Fortier, isn’t it?” She casually lit a cigarette and squinted into the mist.

“How did you know that?” the two snapped back incredulously.

“He used to bring my wine deliveries. He would tell me about Odette and his home on Water Seven.” She smiled, satisfied to have placed another piece of the puzzle. “I always wondered what a man from North Blue was doing working as a wine exporter in the most dangerous part of the Grand Line.”

“Henri was given as a gift to my family when my grandfather saved his father in the Calm Belt. He was my papa’s best friend,” Kasumi said blankly, repeating the story she’d heard as a child.

Shakky nodded. “Is that right? He’s a fine man. I’ve missed him lately, though.”

“Seems he’s been preoccupied with delivering cargo for the Tom’s Workers Company,” Mihawk explained.

Shakky looked up at her son. “You’ve met Fortier?”

Mihawk sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve had far too many visitors lately.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hahaue (母上) is an archaic term for “mother” from the pre-Meiji era.
> 
> This chapter's tumblr post is all about Shakky! https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180515119421/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-12
> 
> Mihawk's Wine Selections for Chapter 12: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180537963096/read-ch-12-of-through-the-fog-part-1-by


	13. Mikkun

They spent the rest of the night drinking in the great room as Shakky told about her latest interesting customers and the story of the time she charged someone 200,000 beri for a map of Sabaody that was free at the tourist office. Mihawk gradually grew quieter as the wine was depleted and every now and then Kasumi caught him looking at his mother with a charming smirk.

The princess was still pounding with adrenaline from having told her story honestly for the first time in her life. Recounting what had happened—most of which she’d only pieced together with Henri’s help—all at once had felt like scraping the last bit of flesh from a mango. Had it really been only four years?

Her mood was dampened, but all she could do now was to make the best of the situation. He’d said she could stay! For now, anyway. She could make this work; stay here, keep getting stronger; wait on someone else to take care of him. Once she could travel on her own, she’d sail anywhere she wanted, start her own family, and bring this island back under her name.  

All at once, her daydream was interrupted by Shakky inquiring about her last residence. “Shikke-chan, tell me what’s new in the City of Water.”

“Oh, let’s see,” she mused. It had been so long since she’d even thought about current events back there! “Have you heard about the new Sea Train? The first line is going to lead to Enies Lobby, and then they’re going to add lines to St. Poplar, Pucci, and San Faldo after that.” She thought for a moment and smiled. “Someday I’d like to take the train to see the gourmet island of Pucci and the mask carnival at San Faldo.”

Shakky grinned. “Yes, I’ve heard the carnival is quite an event! The entire island is transformed! Did you know that the mask-maker families go back for generations? I’ve even heard that certain families have secret designs that—”

Mihawk sighed and headed for the kitchen. Suffering through chatter about carnivals and masks and sea train trips annoyed him; as much as he enjoyed his mother’s company, he missed spending his evenings in silence with a good book. Searching through the pantry, he discovered a canister of spiced nuts and tossed back a handful. The pantry was cool, dark, and quiet; the perfect place to relax for just a few more minutes.

He leaned against the pantry shelf and titled back his head. He’d told the humandrill girl she could stay. Shakky had vouched for her. She was no danger to him. She might even be of some use around the castle, or as an errand-runner. His impartial hospitality and graciousness was more than she deserved, and a fine solution!

Yet, something was nagging at him… Picking at his teeth with his tongue, he gradually realized what the problem was: she’d bypassed the natural consequences of challenging him. Anyone who defied Dracule Mihawk—or even stood as a passive obstacle before him—ought to be struck down without thought. If he was truly meant to hold his title, then cutting any intruder should’ve taken less than half a thought. He needed to demonstrate to her that his offer was only contingent on his generous nature… and certainly not her merit or worthiness...

The women, meanwhile, continued their conversation in the great room, laughing easily as Shakky refilled Kasumi’s glass with a deep ruby wine. “I’m glad I came to meet you, Shikke-chan.”

Another sip granted Kasumi the nerve to say what she’d been thinking since they met: “Shakky, um, how did someone like you raise someone… like him?”

“Ahahahaha!” Shakky laughed. “I… haven’t always been a restaurateur! I was a pirate in my day. That’s how I met his father.” She lit another cigarette and blew the smoke out of the corner of her mouth. “I’m no saint. His father isn’t either. But, I suppose it’s no different than your family, is it? People do what they have to do in this world.” She tapped her cigarette lighter once on the table before leaning back into her seat. “You understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Kasumi replied, “It’s just that you’re so easy to talk to, and he’s so—”

“Hahaue, have you been keeping up with the news regarding these so-called Revolutionaries?” Mihawk reentered the room with the canister of nuts and placed it soundly on the table. “I saw that they ‘liberated’ more islands last week. Liberated, conquered, whatever it is they’re attempting to do.”

Shakky pointed with her cigarette. “You know what I heard? _I heard_ that The Revolutionary leader is actually the son of Monkey D. Garp! Can you believe that? That asshole’s son trying to take down the government!” She giggled with her hand over her chest and relished the irony.

Kasumi shifted her eyes from side to side as she realized that she had no idea who was being discussed. Would the pair of them think her to be even more naïve than they already did? She nodded and smiled, but the conversation continued to drift toward topics outside of her knowledge. She smiled, drank, and smoked until a wave of drunkenness stampeded through her mind; she hadn’t meant to get this tipsy. Thanking them for listening to her story, she quickly excused herself to go to bed, leaving the pair to visit a while longer.

A few hours later, she awoke to the sound of metal screeching against metal as light poured into the room from the empty fireplace. “Yes, this fireplace is connected to the one in the next room, Hahaue …all of the rooms on this side of the hallway share fireplaces.” She heard the sound of firewood being loaded into the log grate, and soon the wall flickered with light. “Come tell me if you run out of firewood or… if you get cold,” Mihawk said flatly.

She could hear the smile on Shakky’s lips as she replied, “Thank you, darling. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Why didn’t he tell me I could have a fire in my room?” Kasumi pouted. At least tonight she’d be warmer than she’d been the past few nights. She pulled the blanket up to her neck and closed her eyes, almost sliding into sleep until she heard her own name.

“Mikkun, I’m glad you decided to let her stay. She’s just a kid who had a rough start. Maybe she’ll be useful around here!”

Mihawk grunted skeptically and closed the door.

\----

He awoke the next morning to find Shakky in the kitchen, surrounded by a fleet of pots and pans. “That shirt looks good on you,” she chirped. “I brought you two so you’d have an extra. I know how hard it is for you to find clothes you like.”

The kitchen table became cluttered with dishes and bowls as Shakky presented her son with his favorite breakfast foods. He’d noticed the carrot and onion miso soup, _wakame_ , sautéed fish, a variety of pickles, and a small bowl of mixed fruit—but it wasn’t until she slid him a bowl of _natto_ rice topped with a fried egg that he looked up at her and sleepily smiled.

Kasumi sat down and scrunched her nose at the scent of natto. “You eat that? That’s old man food.”  

Shakky smiled, “Ahahahaha! He’s always liked his natto rice! Even when he was a baby!” She tousled his hair and joined the pair at the table.

He slunk under her touch and frowned; she knew how much he hated it when she behaved like that! He supposed it was his own fault for giving her an opening by smiling. 

Shakky extinguished her cigarette and stirred her soup. She regretted embarrassing him, but almost a year had passed since she’d seen her only child. So often, it had just been the two of them at the bar on Sabaody while Rayleigh tooled around the seas with Roger.

He’d slept in her bed until he was six—except for those few times when Rayleigh came to stay for a bit. Her stoic little swordsman, the one who’d hidden his broken arm from her for two days; the boy who never cried, never argued with her, never took a day off. The boy who never seemed to make friends except for Red-Hair, who patiently worked his way through the older boy’s defenses during Mihawk’s intermittent visits to the Oro Jackson.

He’d been an eerily calm baby, with a head full of jet black hair and scarlet eyes that bore into you as if he understood some deep cosmic truth. She’d always known he was destined for great things. Rayleigh held him by the shoulders and laughed on his fourth birthday after he’d defeated every adult at the Sabaody dojo, saying, “Someday you’re` going to take my title. With those eyes and your natural ability, you’ll waste your life if you don’t.”  

Those mysterious eyes, eyes that never cried or showed fear; sometimes they flickered with surprise or interest, even anger, but never fear. It was as if the boy never realized that being afraid was an emotional option. When he was a baby, she used to stare into his eyes endlessly, fascinated as he focused them on faraway objects and seemed to notice things no infant should be able to perceive.

He’d always been such a serious and thoughtful child. Rayleigh was right; he was born to be the strongest (and he’d easily held the title), but today, watching him eat his breakfast while reading a newspaper only reminded her of the shy little boy who used to sit in the corner of her restaurant and memorize his sword encyclopedia.

After a couple of years of nomadic life as a new Shichibukai, he’d taken residence on this island, telling her that he couldn’t live between the open sea and her house anymore. She’d had the tiniest sliver of hope that he might’ve blossomed once on his own, but he’d remained just as strange and stubborn as he’d ever been.  

“Yosh’,” he announced, standing abruptly and transferring his dishes to the sink. “I’m off to train a while. Thank you for breakfast.”

Shakky nodded approvingly, more than familiar with her son’s routine for the past 21 years.

\---

After cleaning up breakfast, Kasumi asked Shakky if she’d like to take a short walk on the island. She packed a small bundle and assured the older woman that the swamp wasn’t nearly as dangerous or unpleasant as Mihawk had made it seem.

They made their way across the eastern drawbridge and to the ruins of Hiroshi’s former servants’ quarters, where the humandrills gathered to scavenge through the morning tide. The baboons quickly crowded around the new human, drawn in by the smell of her cigarette and her easygoing behavior as she smiled at them softly.

“Shikke-chan, are these the same beasts that my son told me were nearly untamable? They seem awfully easy to befriend.”

Kasumi smiled. “That’s because they like you. They know you aren’t going to hurt them. What they do is a reflection of what you’ve done to them.” She broke one of the wafer cookies Henri had sent and extended her flat hand. “This one is Choco-chan. She’s known me since I was a baby.” Choco-chan brought the cookie to her mouth with her forefingers and hooted with pleasure. “I can tell them what to do; just watch.”

She closed her eyes and concentrated. _“This woman is your friend. Come and let her pat your head.”_ The monkeys clustered around Shakky, who giggled as she scratched each of their hairy faces. _“Yes that’s it; don’t scare her now; be good.”_    

A young humandrill with an infant at her breast approached, plucking her baby away as if to demonstrate to Shakky just how adorable it was. She nodded gently and offered a bit of cookie toward the baby’s strangely human-like hand.  

They stayed a while to finish distributing the treats as Kasumi pointed toward various landmarks on the island. Mihawk watched from the terrace as they held hands and began their trek back to the castle, Kasumi beaming with a natural smile he hadn’t seen before.  

They stopped at the moat and looked down into the brackish water, tossing in the remainder of wafer crumbs. Shakky gave the young woman’s hand a final squeeze and turned to face her. “Shikke-chan, what do you think Mihawk does as a Shichibukai?”

Kasumi was caught off guard. “I thought they worked for the Government and helped back up the Marines?”

“Yes, they do that, but Mihawk fills a certain role,” she said quietly, watching a small goby rise to the surface and begin pecking at the crumbs. “Tell me, did your father ever disappear for a while, and you knew quite well that what he was doing was ending others’ lives, fighting others to their death, bringing untold amounts of sorrow to someone else in the world?”

Kasumi scoffed. “Of course. It’s what Shikkearu do.”

Shakky continued, “But when he came home, he was still the same father as he’d been before, no? No matter what vicious or violent thing had happened, to you he was still the same gentle and loving person as he was before?”

“Mm,” Kasumi agreed, noticing a large terrapin slink toward the crumbs.

“That’s what it’s like to have your son be the world’s strongest swordsman. To me, he’ll always be my precious son, but… Kasumi-chan, listen. Mihawk is a very strong, extremely dangerous person. He kills without a second thought. Sometimes it might seem like he doesn’t have a heart at all. And that’s what makes him the best, and why the Government wanted him to work for them. His job is to kill anyone who gets too proud on the first half of the Grand Line. His job is to be a name that strikes fear.”

The water flashed for a brief moment, and the goby disappeared downward. “If you’re going to stay here, you need to know that side of him is very real. Stay tough. Don’t get your feelings hurt. And don’t get yourself killed.”

Kasumi nodded thoughtfully and they continued back to the castle, where Shakky began preparing lunch, along with several more meals to be frozen. Mihawk appeared in the doorway, enticed by the idea of leftovers.

“Oh, Mikkun, could you grab that curry powder from the top shelf for me? And I was going to make you some rice pudding, too, but I couldn’t find the cinnamon.”

He retrieved both items and sat them on the counter. “It’s not necessary to go to all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble to feed my son,” she laughed. She stirred the pot quickly and then turned to face him. “Darling, I think it’s good that you’ve decided to let her stay. Besides, it will be good for you to have someone to interact with now and then." She hesitated. "But how do you feel about it?”

Mihawk shrugged. Why was she always trying to get him to have some kind of deep emotions about anything? Things were what they were. “My only reservation is that I shouldn’t have thwarted fate,” he admitted. “She should’ve died, logically.”

Shakky looked into his piercing eyes. “Mihawk, your sword _is_ fate. If you spared her, then that’s her fate, for now at least. Trust yourself.”

The trio enjoyed one last meal together before seeing Shakky off at the dock as an afternoon shower began to pour.

“Your mom is amazing,” Kasumi announced.

His face brightened briefly before falling back into a frown. “Listen, Shikkearu, join me this afternoon in the sparring room after my nap. You have a lot of work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * natto: Japanese fermented soybeans; super-slimy and smells really strong
> 
> Come visit me and let's talk about little Mihawk!  
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180697212981/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-13


	14. Norishige

Kasumi looked up from her book to see Mihawk in the hallway, his hair flattened on one side from his nap.

“Are you ready?”

She sighed heavily, “To get beat up again? What do you want to do? I already have a mentor and a training routine.”

“The sooner I prepare you to fight competently, the sooner you’ll be ready to set out on your own and leave, right? Come.”

Once inside the sparring room, he brought out a pair of black boots and tossed them to the floor with a thump. “Put these on.”

She looked at him incredulously. “Uh, I don’t think those will fit me.”

“I’m well aware of that, princess,” he snarked. “I want to make it more difficult for you to hop around like a cricket. You’re wasting energy.”

“But I’ll barely be able to move in those!”

“Well, my first inclination… was to tie weights to your feet, but that seemed a bit crude. I could chain your ankles to the wall... if you’d prefer,” he said flatly.

She nudged the boots with her toe. “What’s wrong with the way I move? I can react faster when I stay light on my feet.”

“If you can learn to read your opponent well enough, you won’t need to flutter around guessing at what they’ll do. Besides, staying light on your feet is a different matter than… flinging yourself about like a wounded mouse. Just put on the boots.”   

She slid her feet into the boots, wondering if he was only doing this so that she’d look like an idiot. Cutlass in hand, she stomped forward.

“Eh,” he scratched his chin. “That’s another thing, hime-kun; you need to use a heavier sword.”

Kasumi’s mouth fell open. “This sword has been in my family for five generations! There’s nothing wrong with this sword!”

“Was it your father’s sword?”

“No.”

“Your elder sibling’s?”

“No.”

“Your grandfather’s?”

“No.” She was becoming irritated and knew exactly what he was hinting at.

“Then… who wielded it last?”

“My great-aunt,” she admitted, twisting inside the boots. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not a good sword! It’s _my_ sword! Look, all of these dents and chips are mine! I’ve fought every fight in my life with this sword!”

“That’s quite apparent, Shikkearu. It’s also clear… that the sword you were given is one that was available because no one wanted it. The sword given to the fourth child, and the second daughter… And to make up for the lack of quality, how about another weapon to balance it out?” With a wry smile, he quipped, “Oh, how about a flail?”

She swallowed and looked at the floor. “Look, I wasn’t the one who was supposed to be here. The others are dead. I’ve done the best I could. They may not have given me the best sword in the armory, but that doesn’t mean that it’s the wrong sword for me… or that I’m the wrong recipient for it.”

His eyes swept across the room. “I think your ancestors would rather you’d restore their name with an actual sword… than with a dented piece of tin. I believe I have something that will suit you.”

Steel pinged against steel as he waded through piles of swords before thoughtfully selecting a handful. “You can have this broadsword, or this estoc… or this claymore, or these two katanas… I also have a saber that would fit you, but I assume you’d like to differentiate yourself from Fortier.”

“You’re changing too much too fast. You can’t change everything I do,” she mumbled.

He shrugged. “I’m trying to fix you.”

“I don’t need to be fixed!”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What’s that, bounty hunter? You don’t need any advice from the swordsman at the top? You want to stay here and be my window-washer?”

She huffed as she stomped awkwardly and picked up the swords in turn, swinging them as if she were taking off Mihawk’s head. “I wanna try this one,” she said, testing a claymore with three violet cabochons on the hilt.

“Ah, is that right?” His angry expression melted. “That’s been in my possession for quite a while. That’s the _Norishige*_. It’s a _ryo wazamono*_ class blade from Mystoria Island in the New World. You should notice the pine bark pattern on the steel, which is unique to that land—”

“Okay, okay, I didn’t ask for all that.” Seeing his disappointment at having his lesson cut short, she added, “I’d rather form an opinion on my own. But it’s really nice, though… Oh, it’s so heavy!”

“There’s only one way to get stronger, princess _._ Do you think my sword is light?”

Why did he have to turn everything into an argument? She gave up on tending to the conversation and angrily slashed at his side.  

Still unarmed, he leaned quickly toward the wall. “Alright! Let’s see the hobbled rabbit!”

She shifted her weight without lifting her feet in the boots, her arms extended to their fullest. The two-handed claymore was so much heavier than her cutlass! She hefted it over her right shoulder and brought it toward his chest while stepping forward clumsily, trying not to trip in the oversized boots. “This is stupid. You just want to laugh at me.”

His lips rose on one side. “While your predicament has some humor, I only want you to be able to survive on your own and leave. You have some… faults holding you back.”

“Like what?” she asked, allowing her arms to rest for a moment.  

“Ay, you want to hear each one?”

She scowled and popped her chin forward in contempt.

“Your bladework… is too closely coupled with your footwork, both on offense and on defense. You can’t predict your opponent; your parries in _seconde_ are weak—”

“So what, you want to train me now?” she asked sarcastically, “I didn’t ask you to be my _sensei_.”

“I didn’t offer to be. But you’re not ready, and I want you to leave.” Continuing his evaluation, he added, “You’re guessing at what to do. You waste time on minor techniques… instead of perfecting major ones. You never attempted to disengage...” His eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Worst of all, I can predict each of your moves by just looking at your face. You show too much emotion, get too upset, overreact to feints. You lack composure.”

“Lack of composure is what made my family what we are,” she said, bringing the Norishige into position.

“And that’s why you’re wearing those boots. Now come at me.”   

She threw herself at him, straining to reach him within her newly restricted span.

“Kukukuku, you’re going to have to work harder than that!” he laughed.

She slogged forward a step and cut toward his midsection.

“Ah, too slow. Less movement, more thought, cricket.”

She locked eyes with him and tried to send the same dead look in her eyes as she saw in his. Bringing the claymore to neutral position, she faked and was finally able to see him flinch—only a fraction of a hair’s width. Appreciating the brief advantage, she lunged toward his shoulder while he leaned backward on his hips.

“That’s better, but you’re still too slow.”

_“It’s only because you’ve handicapped me.”_

She stabbed at his side, slashed at his head, and swept at his knees without any success. Springing away toward the wall, he snatched up a _shinai*_ and brought it into position. “Show me a real attack.”

The claymore sliced and flicked at him futilely while he cleanly parried each blow. How was she supposed to train if he wouldn’t even give her an opening? Her arms burned with exertion and her wrists were beginning to flop downward with every swing.  

His mouth twitched on the verge of an evil smile. “Get a touch and I’ll let you take off the boots, hime-kun.”

She brought everything she had against him, swinging the sword far too slowly as he moved backward facetiously. “Ah, you almost got me… Again? Surely next time! …Oh, no, not this time either...”

Kasumi puffed at the drops of sweat accumulating on her lips. _“I don’t see the point in you taunting me endlessly. I thought you were going to help me.”_

He sneered. “Eh, consider it encouragement. Come at me.”

She stepped forward on the same foot twice, thrusting the sword at his torso. His shinai easily swatted away the claymore, producing a large splinter that landed on his chest.  

“That counts as a touch.”

“Bah! I don’t think so, princess.”

“Half a touch,” she countered, kicking off the right boot. In a flash, she slid behind him and fully extended her arms to slash widely at his calves, causing him to jump forward and smack the shinai against her wrists. 

“You should think before exposing yourself that way.”

The sting of the bamboo sword was transformed into adrenaline, and she sliced at him while lunging forward on her free foot as he laughingly called out his parrying positions.

“ _Quart! Prime! Septime!_ …Shikkearu,” he deadpanned, “you recall me to my training days.” He allowed her to back him onto the patio; once his trailing foot had reached the railing, he gave her a taut smile and raised an eyebrow. “Do you see how your offense improves when you’re not playing at being a flea?” 

She pressed the thickest part of the claymore against the _shinai,_ her arms vibrating. _“What else can you show me?”_

His smile dropped and his face became cold and empty. “Show you? Would you listen?”

 _“Well, yeah…”_ she mused, _“At least if it’s worth learning…”_

“You could benefit from learning… how to focus your anger,” he replied. The shinai swept over her sword and flew toward her face with horrifying speed, gone before she’d even felt the blow.  

Her temper began to boil as slick liquid poured from her bottom lip. She tightened her grip on the sword and pushed her tongue against her teeth; he had a point. Kasumi fought both at her best and at her worst when she was angry. Her eyes narrowed as she strained to control her rage; gradually, a smirk ran across her bloodied mouth. “I’d like that.”

He returned her expression. “Good! There’s some towels by the door there for your… face.”      

“Eh?” she grunted, looking up from wiping her mouth with the upturned bottom of her tank top. He glimpsed a series of overlapping striped scars on either side of her waist. A particular scar, shaped exactly like the letter “Y,” was positioned over the ninth or tenth rib on the left side.

Deciding to grant her a bit of respite, he offered a quick introduction to the weight room and instructed her to work until her form began to suffer. “Oh, and… keep the Norishige on you from now on. If you’re going to use it, you’ll need to become accustomed to its weight.”  

\----

They continued their routine the next day, Kasumi still burdened by the boots and the heft of her new weapon. He stood upright casually, holding Yoru in front of him as she struck with the Norishige as quickly as she could. “This isn’t very impressive, Shikkearu,” he complained. 

_“I’m going as fast as I can,”_ she replied, _“I’ve only had it for one day!”_ She abruptly changed rhythms and lunged toward his chest. _“I can make it more exciting.”_

He jumped back and swung the great sword at his side. “Eh, Shikkearu, please don’t attempt to spar with me when I have this sword. I’d prefer not to slice the Norishige in half.” His shoulders shrugged. “At least until your haki is stronger, you won’t be able to counter a blow from this blade.”

Her eyes sparkled. “So what you’re saying is that you’re defenseless?” She extended her arms and pointed the weapon to his chest.

“Kukuku! Not quite, dear.” He grasped at his neck and pulled away the Kogatana, unsheathing it with a nearly-invisible swipe of his hand.

“What?!” she laughed. “That’s only a toy!”

His gaze tightened. “Nothing is a toy in my hands, humandrill-hime. Try me.”

She looked at him skeptically for a few seconds before launching her attack, but the Norishige was blocked at every angle by the small knife. How could such a tiny blade stop her? “Let me see that,” she demanded finally.

He handed it to her and she examined the dagger carefully. “It’s just a regular knife,” she mumbled.

“As I told you already,” he said, “in my hands, any blade is undefeatable—and the best blade can cut mountains. Now, eh… would you like to continue your training? You do have an awfully long way to go.”

He was mildly pleased to see that she redoubled her effort for the remainder of her training; perhaps the little rabbit only needed the proper motivation.  

After a quick shower, she joined him for lunch, where Shakky’s leftovers were a welcome relief from cooking. “Why didn’t you,” she asked between bites, “ever tell me that I could light the fireplace in my room?” She swallowed hungrily. “It’s freezing in there!”

He lowered his chin and looked up at her. “I suppose it didn’t occur to me. You didn’t ask. No matter… you’re welcome to use the fireplace as long as you don’t burn down the castle. And, eh, you’ll need to haul your own logs upstairs. There’s a wood shed next to the garden.”

She got to work building a small stack of firewood in her room after lunch. After three sweaty trips upstairs, she collapsed into a chair in the study as Mihawk snored away in the next room.  A dusty book that had been teetering on the shelf fell to the floor with a slap. Sighing, she leaned down to pick it up; it was an old _kendo_ manual of techniques and practice drills, some of the pages marked with slips of yellowed paper.

She ran her finger along the spines on the shelf: an enormous tome with gold lettering titled “Notable Warriors of Elbaf, Volume 544;” an old atlas of East Blue; an ancient, decaying book called “Modern Swords.” Her finger slid along until it reached “Almanac of Grand Line Royal Families.” She snatched it open and flipped to the “Shi-” section.

 

** シッケアール王国 **

 

632 years ago, a branch of this peculiar royal family left their sinking palace on Water Seven and migrated to

the swampy jungle of Kuraigana Island, previously inhabited only by vicious baboons. Unable to hold both islands,

the Shikkearu Family was fully confined to the swamp after only a few years.

 

Although formidable fighters, they are known for their deceitfulness, subterfuge, constant infighting, and

unwarranted violence. It is said that their unpleasant nature derives as a result of their mastery of telepathy, causing

them to distrust one another and outsiders. Attendance at Reverie is infrequent and trade alliances are sparse.

 

In recent years, turmoil in the family combined with isolationism has caused the Kingdom to decline substantially. Still,

Kuraigana Island should be avoided at all costs, as the human inhabitants are as savage as the primates.

 

Kasumi’s eyes began to water as she reread the passage. Seeing the disparaging words right in front of her was overwhelming! She’d heard Marius say such things, and overheard whispers as a child, but knowing that a _published book_ contained such defamatory language... She removed the page with a satisfying rip, crumpled it in her hands, and hurled the wad into the empty fireplace. 

Spent from the physical and mental exertions of the day, she joined him for a nap in the parlor before dinner, choosing to curl up on the long chaise while he lay in an armchair, stretching into the shortening sunlight that signaled the end of summer.  

\----

The next morning at breakfast, Mihawk interrupted the silence with an announcement. “Rabbit, a week has passed… since you came to live in my house. I’ve some business to attend to at sea... and I’m afraid you’re keeping me from it.”

Kasumi glared at him. How dare he blame her for his laziness! “Oh, I’m sorry, Mihawk-sama! By all means, go and do your top-secret Shichibukai duties! The little rabbit can feed herself from the garden without you!”

“And can you keep my castle standing while I’m gone?” he shot back, “And continue your training without my constant corrections?”

“Of course I can,” she snapped, beginning to relish the idea of having the castle to herself. “But… when will you be back?”

“Eh? Must I provide you a schedule? I’ll be back when I’m done. A few days.”

She tried to change the tone—maybe if he left on good terms, he’d stay gone longer. She put her hand on her chin and asked sweetly, “Well, can you tell me what you’re going to do?”

One side of his mouth curled up. “To destroy fools who thought they were ready for the Grand Line.”

She gave an evil grin; now her interest was piqued. “You’re going to go kill new pirates? Tell me what it’s like!”

“It’s simply my occupation,” he replied calmly. “It’s not the worst station in the world, passing my time crushing the hopes and dreams of some idiot who thought they were strong enough to stand against me.”

Kasumi's smile dropped a bit once she realized he could be talking about her. “Hm,” she nodded.

Mihawk sailed off after breakfast, rolling his eyes as Kasumi waved goodbye to him like a fool.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Norishige: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Etch%C5%AB_Norishige
> 
> * ryo wazamono: skillful grade (2nd grade of named swords in One Piece)
> 
> * shinai: a bamboo training sword
> 
> * シッケアール王国 = Shikkeāru Ōkoku (Shikkearu Kingdom)
> 
> Join me on Tumblr for this Chapter's post!  
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180786240406/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-14


	15. Alone at Last

Kasumi smiled and waved broadly as the boat retreated from the castle. What a fool he was to leave her here alone! Didn’t he realize that this is exactly what she wanted?

She completed her morning training routine and then celebrated with a glass of wine in the study. Having finished the book about the moon-man, she leafed through a few she found on the shelves, browsing “Mastering the Curved Swords of Alabasta,” “The Book of Five Rings,” “A Sailor’s Guide to Sea Storms,” and “Cursed Blades and Their Makers.” There was a section of the bookcase that had a dozen or so books written in a language she’d never seen before, each well-worn and marked with the same yellowed paper as the _kendo_ manual. The only consistent word she could make out on the spines was “Wano.”

A midmorning chill ran through the castle; this was usually his naptime, when he alternatively sprawled and curled on the furniture in one of the eastern rooms, most often with a light satin crimson quilt draped from his boots to his shoulders. Kasumi was used to spending this time before lunch in her post-training shower followed by drying her hair in front of the fireplace while reading a chapter or two of her novel.     

Now that he was gone, she could light as many fireplaces as she wanted! Why did he always keep the house so cold? She started a fire in the great room and sprawled out for a long nap. After a simple lunch and an evening workout, she had a dinner of Shakky’s leftovers and then walked confidently into his room to take a bath in the lavish tub.

A vast marble bath awaited her adjacent to his bedroom. She’d drained his bathwater and refilled the tub anew, adding a dash of the salts Shakky had left behind. Although it was much bigger and boasted a lovely picture window overlooking the swirling hills, she was disappointed to find that it was only furnished with basic necessities. Wavy-paged books and empty wine bottles were the only pathetic accompaniments to a bath that had served royals! When the castle was hers someday, she’d make sure it was enjoyed the way it was meant to be.

\----

Mihawk had only been sailing a few hours when he encountered a rickety ship of East Blue pirates who appeared to have been overwhelmed. Their sails were ripped, no one manned their helm, and the ship was listing to one side; gaunt men moved slowly across the deck, peering at him with suspicion. Mihawk sighed and decided to put them out of their misery. The least he could do was to let them go down fighting, rather than waste away in sun-baked hunger.

He brought Yoru over his shoulder and swung it horizontally, creating a green slash that sped towards the ship and separated the deck from the hull. The deck hopped into the sky briefly before crashing back down as the men screamed in horror. They fired at him futilely with tired cannons and rifles, but he was already on the deck, first slicing the cannons in half and then pivoting to eliminate the gunmen in one sweeping motion.

He made easy work of the majority of the crew with a diagonal strike that spread out and bisected the astonished crowd. A wild-eyed, snaggle-toothed man he supposed to be the captain rushed toward him, “Who are you?!” he demanded.

“It matters not.” Mihawk deadpanned. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Maybe not,” snaggle-tooth hissed, his throat dry with salt, “but I deserve to know the name of the man I’m about to kill!” He screamed and drew his sword, advancing on the intruder with as much power and fierceness as he could muster.

Mihawk rolled his eyes and held Yoru nonchalantly in front of him. As the man charged, Mihawk rocked slightly on his back foot to dodge the blow and swung Yoru around, decapitating his opponent from the rear. The head came to rest near his feet, eyes looking up at him in terror. “My name is Dracule Mihawk,” he announced.

A whisper of “Taka no Me” rose from the remaining crew. Mihawk turned slowly to face them, secretly satisfied with the awe his name inspired. It seemed that within the last few months, his reputation had expanded to even louts like these! He eyed the pathetic, half-starved men with a snarl as they surged toward him, hesitating not a moment before slicing each across the throat.

As the deck began to sink, he made his way to the captain’s quarters, where he removed two chests and a stack of bills, and then leafed through a pile of boring papers. Hearing the water slosh against the door, he calmly exited and sprung back to his boat as the once-proud ship disappeared into the sea.

The sun was high in the sky, so he ate some of the snacks he’d packed away, lowered his hat, and fell asleep, directing his boat toward the small island he knew was nearby. If the weather stayed fine, he’d reach it by dinnertime. Better to get some rest now. If another boat approached, he’d be able to sense it.

He awoke to the sounds of seagulls notifying him that he was nearing land. He willed his boat toward the island and docked at an empty spot in the marina. The dock was quiet and welcoming, and it felt good to stretch his legs and walk around a bit in the quiet little town. There was only one dusty main road here, surrounded by farms and pastures. He certainly didn’t mind the lack of people; he was here for a reason.

He strode into the building he’d visited before and took a seat in a dark corner. The air was thick with oily steam. A newspaper lay open on a nearby table, the lead story describing an end to the stalemate in East Blue. Apparently, the Marines had been called in to settle the issue. There were no survivors noted.*

“Welcome, Sir! What would you like?” A cheerful teenage girl stood before him, relaxed and sincere. She had blue hair that fell in corkscrews down her back and a pair of twinkling aquamarine eyes accented by a deep green uniform. A hairy arm had reached out from the door to the kitchen, nearly grabbing her as she’d passed by.

“I’ll have the ‘Champion Ramen’* and a bottle of red wine.”

“Hm,” she nodded pleasantly. As she returned to the kitchen, Mihawk observed impartially as her forearm was jerked by a thick hand while a voice hissed, “That’s Taka no Me… kill you in an instant… Idiot! …why didn’t you tell him we’re closed?”

He smirked a little and held the newspaper in front of his face. He certainly hadn’t intended to intimidate the blue-haired girl; he’d only come here for the ramen he’d tried a few months ago. Surely hairy-arm could remind her that he’d visited peacefully before! Still… there was no use in being overly-friendly with random islanders. Spreading his reputation was more important than coddling the feelings of a waitress.

He’d finished the story about the East Blue battle when the girl’s shoes began clicking on the floor toward him. Her back was stiff, her hands were shaking, and her eyes were no longer twinkling. “Your wine, Sir,” she quivered, pouring far too much into the glass.

“That’s fine, thank you.” He gulped a few swigs of the local juice, finding it earthy and honest, but lacking anything unique enough to make it memorable. As long as the food was as he’d remembered, the mediocrity of the drink would suffice. He closed his eyes until he felt her reapproach.

“Dracu _-,_ eh, Taka no-, eh, Sir, your ramen.” She slid the bowl in front of him and turned from the table. “Anything else?” she asked, hoping with all her heart that he didn’t want anything else.

“Are there any other newspapers?”

She grabbed a lone newspaper from the counter and passed it to him, unsure of what it was or even if it was current.

He swallowed his ramen while reading a week-old issue of the news from South Blue. The flavor of the soup was exactly how he remembered it. Places like this were few and far between on the Grand Line: peaceful, empty, little villages where guests were rare, the food was delicious, and everyone left him alone.  

After solving the daily puzzles, he signaled the girl and asked how much he owed.

She lowered her head, draping blue corkscrews over her shoulders. “No… nothing, Sir, please accept it as a gift.”

“Ridiculous,” he droned. “I pay for what I eat. Tell me how much it is. Will this do?” He produced a thousand-beri bill.

Her eyes dilated in a mixture of delighted surprise and sheer panic. “Yes, of course, Dracule-sama!”

“Good. I’ll return sometime. Don’t change anything.”

Grabbing the bottle of wine, he rose and left the restaurant, his coat flowing gracefully behind him. The girl watched his silhouette disappear into the distance until she suddenly realized that she needed to throw up and pee at the same time.

He settled back into the boat and slouched into his chair. The moon reflected on the wine bottle as he tilted it to his lips. What was the rabbit doing? She might be sleeping in his bed! Or drinking from the wrong wine cabinet! Or burning the entire estate to the ground! No… it indeed seemed that she wanted to preserve the castle. He swallowed hungrily to force a decision.

She, above anyone, might be its most trustworthy caretaker. Seeing the terror on the waitress’ face—abandoned by hairy-arm to face Taka no Me alone—had reminded him of the princess’ resolute façade. She wasn’t afraid of him. She hadn’t cowered at his name. She’d held her ground, even though she might die. That sort of obstinance and iron will, as infuriating as it was, would ensure she kept the castle standing. Settling back into the boat, he continued west overnight, keeping his haki peeled for anyone who might be close by.

\----  

He awoke slightly before daybreak to spy a group of four ships sailing in tight formation. They appeared to be a young crew, some still drunk from the night before and sleeping out on the decks. He observed them over the course of an hour as they began to stir in the sunlight.

Deciding to make himself known, he approached from the starboard side.

“Oi, who goes there?”

“Who’s that in the little boat?”

“What do you want, man? We’re busy.”

He cut to the chase. “Who’s your best swordfighter?”

A chorus rose from the crew. “Katsu is the best in the world! No one can defeat him!”

“Bring him out,” Mihawk demanded.

“Or what? Who are you?”

Mihawk focused tightly on the man at the front of the group. “I’m the one who’s going to kill Katsu. And the rest of you.”

“Oi, Katsu, you awake? Some guy wants to fight you.”

A tall, square-jawed blond man emerged from the hold, squinting at Mihawk in the morning sun. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he bellowed, “I’ll make you regret waking me up like this!”

Mihawk leapt onto the deck of the main ship and was disappointed to see a lanky teenager wielding a _jian._ “Are you Katsu?”

“That’s right,” the teen replied smugly. “And who are you?”

“I’m Dracule Mihawk.”

Katsu’s eyes widened. “Taka no Me?”

Mihawk lifted his head to reveal the crimson eyes gleaming under his hat. Within an instant, Katsu was on the ground, thick rivers of blood pouring from a deep slash across his throat. Mihawk sighed and turned to face the rest of the crew. Killing this man had been too easy; Shikkearu could have handled him herself. Perhaps he should have drawn out the battle a bit more.

“Best in the world, eh?” he asked the shocked crew. If Katsu was the best they had to offer, then he wouldn’t waste his time engaging the rest.

He perceived their rush toward him nearly a full second before they’d even begun to move. Springing back to his boat, he slashed at their mast, which crashed onto the deck, crushing tens of men with a definitive crack. Green shockwaves sped toward the remaining three ships; after a brief pause, each ship snapped in half with a rumble that split the morning air.

The surviving crew of the main ship was scrambling about, attempting to load cannons while firing sloppy, panicked gunshots at the intruder. Mihawk smirked and brought the sword overhead, slicing three times to reduce the ship to an enormous pile of splinters. Pilfering their hold was hardly worth his time; crews of cocky young men like this never had any treasure, anyway. Through the dust, he saw two young men escaping in a rowboat.

“Please don’t kill us, Taka no Me!” they screamed, “We just want to get back home!”

Mihawk drew near and cast a long shadow over the rowboat. “Eh, if you **do** make it back to your home, tell… Katsu’s sensei that he wasn’t ready.”

\----

Kasumi spent her first full day alone training, reading, and doing laundry. She hung her clothes on a line between two of the massive armchairs in front of the fireplace in the great room, smiling at the idea that she’d claimed the castle as her own. After picking what was ripe from the garden, she from the kitchen watched as a storm blew in and whipped the remaining vines. The summer plants didn’t have much time left.

She toured through the castle as she had her first day—the day she’d expected to be killed—but this time, she found herself discovering clues in each room that this was Mihawk’s castle and not just Hiroshi’s empty palace: a cotton handkerchief embroidered with roses, folded neatly under an empty glass; a jar of musky pomade; an iron crucifix hanging over each bed. Of course, the swords, wine bottles, and books were constant reminders of who’d been living here as well. Parasite that he was, he’d changed his environment just enough to make it uncomfortable for its natural, rightful inhabitant.  

She enjoyed another bath in his spacious tub, relaxing with the evening newspapers and the remainder of her cigarettes. After changing into clean pajamas, she lay down across his bed, which was at least twice as big as her own. She nudged the bedpost with her foot as a grin spread across her mouth—a Shikkearu was in charge of the castle!

After a quick trip downstairs to extinguish the fireplaces, she returned to the third floor hallway and stood outside his door, considering the stately bed with its thick red silk duvet. What a fancy fool he was! Rolling her eyes, she decided to sleep in her own room tonight, where the fireplace roared soundly for hours in perfect contentment.

\----

After his encounter with Katsu’s crew, Mihawk sailed southward for several hours, only spotting some birds and a few jumping fish. He stood and stretched his legs for a while, ate a quick lunch of onigiri, and signaled at a passing News Coo for a newspaper.

A purple and gold ship ambled by in the distance—he had no doubt it was Crocodile, whom he’d read was recently defeated by Whitebeard. Now may have been a good time to challenge him, while he was down licking his wounds, but Mihawk didn’t like to win that way. If he was ever going to fight that hook-hand, he’d prefer to see him at his full strength.

The bright afternoon sun faded into an orange dusk, and he became irresistibly tired. He spent the rest of the night half-asleep, drifting toward an island he’d visited many times before.

In the morning, he docked at the main harbor and casually strolled uphill into town. He heard the villagers gasp as he walked by, pulling their children toward them and silencing their questions. A few years ago, that sort of reaction would have made him feel smugly satisfied, but now it was commonplace. Turning down an alleyway, he pushed open a jingling door. 

“Ahhh, Taka no Me, what a pleasant surprise!” a sinewy old man sputtered. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” The man nearly stumbled as he rushed to bow to the Shichibukai. “I don’t have anything as nice as the rapier I sold you last time, but I have an interesting shortsword from Dressrosa that I put away for you.”

Mihawk browsed the racks of swords while the old man retrieved a case from under the counter. “Now, it’s not a named blade, but it’s said that it was used to win over three hundred battles in the Corrida Colosseum. You can see it once had Alabasta engraving on the hilt.”

Mihawk glanced at the sword. It looked exactly like you’d expect for something that had been abused in the Colosseum for three hundred battles. Still, the old man was a good broker, and the sword may have been a fine instrument in its day.

 _“Ossan_ , I’m afraid you don’t have inventory that I’m interested in today. I appreciate you putting it aside for me. I hope you’ll come up with something for next time,” he frowned and slid the man several large bills across the counter.

“Po-po-po-po!” the old man laughed. “What’s this for then?”

“For your trouble. Until next time.”

The door tinkled with bells as he exited. He’d always considered the cash he took off his opponents to be immediate spending money, nearly meaningless. Very few of the pirates he came across carried considerable amounts of loose cash anyway; most of his profits came from pilfered chests. Combined with the occasional bounty hunting rewards he collected, money had become mostly meaningless to him.

He strolled down the adjacent street to the used bookstore where the two old ladies worked. Parting the curtain, he was relieved to find the store was dark and quiet.

“Oh, welcome, Dracule-san! It must be our lucky day to have a visit from our most well-read customer. I heard you were in town. Here, have some tea.” A tall, spiky-haired old woman pushed a steaming cup toward him.

“Kiyo, just be quiet and let the man shop,” whispered a tiny woman with a towering bun. “You’ll scare him off!”

He’d arrived only a while ago, yet word of his presence had spread so quickly? Perhaps his reputation was spreading… or perhaps he’d stirred some gossip the last time he came through with a chest full of gold and left with trunks of swords and wine. No matter! The sword broker and the used book women were longtime friends of his father. Over the last few years, the townspeople had gradually lowered their guard around him, same as the grocer on Water 7. Was he not frightening enough?

Mihawk accepted the tea and made his way around the bookstore, leafing through a book about the swordsman Ryuma and scanning over “A Definitive Guide to Fighting with Poles and Spears.” Once he finished reviewing the new inventory, he made his purchase, bid the women goodbye, and bought some lunch from a nearby yakisoba cart.

After selling off most of the items from the chests, he bought a half-dozen of bottles of wine, then walked back downhill toward the dock, making sure to glare at the curious teens who eyed him on the way to his boat. Three days at sea was enough; he wanted a bath and a good night’s sleep in his own bed. He wondered how the little rabbit was—and if she’d done anything stupid.

On the way back, he came across a small fleet of ships ridiculously outfitted with expensive and unnecessary gadgets and fixtures. Various spinning, waving, and scanning instruments sat atop the main topmast, surely doing… whatever it was they were supposed to do to benefit the ship. In the long run, no silly gadgets could prepare the crew for him! He watched as someone in the flagship’s crow’s nest peered at him through a telescope.

“It’s nothing but a tiny raft! Out there all alone! Some little guy on it! Kakakakaka!” The lead ship sailed boldly toward him as their laughter intensified. “What are you doing out here in a little dinghy? Don’t you know this is the Grand Line?”

Mihawk titled his head and curled his lip as he swung Yoru from left to right across his field of vision. Each ship’s hull was cleanly severed in two as the men toppled overboard. He leapt onto the flagship and slashed at the sailors in all directions, his movements nearly imperceptible except for the carnage that spewed from his blade. Once the crew was indisposed, he rummaged through the captain’s quarters and pried open a safe to find a chunk of seastone. “Hmph,” he muttered. How did regular pirates get their hands on this?

Returning to his boat, he washed the blood off his face and hands in the water before opening a bottle of wine. He took a long swig from the bottle as he locked eyes with a man who was clinging desperately to a plank of wood.

\----

Kasumi was sitting in the great room after dinner, halfway through a book about North Blue fencing styles, when she heard the back door unlatch. Her arms still ached from her afternoon training, but she grabbed the Norishige from her hip and called out silently. _“Mihawk?”_

“Oi,” a monotone voice replied, “I see you haven’t changed the locks.”

She stood and met him in the dark hallway near the kitchen. Handing her a clinking sack, he said, “Take this to the wine cabinet—not the good cabinet, the third one from the door. There’s something for you, too.”

After finding empty spots for all the wine, she dug through the bag to find a beautiful full-color book about the history of the mask carnival on San Faldo. Catching him in the kitchen, she thanked him in a quiet voice. “I didn’t realize you’d heard me talking about that.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were drunk,” he said, turning to face her.

Viewing him in the dim lantern light of the kitchen, she gasped and reached for his arm. “You’re all bloody!”  

“Kukukuku!” he laughed, stripping off his shirt and tossing it in the sink. “It’s not mine, hime-kun. It never is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * This was the battle that caused Nami to be orphaned. Bell-mère was in the Marine group that was called in. 
> 
> *“Champion Ramen” is an English-language joke reference to “Champon Ramen.” Yes, I’m that funny. I’m a goddamn riot. They say the best jokes are the ones you have to explain… No, wait, no one says that. Except maybe Mihawk.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Champon
> 
> Join me on tumblr for this chapter's post!  
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180854961901/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-15


	16. Circus Tricks

Mihawk turned again and headed upstairs to have a bath. Kasumi watched as the water droplets in the sink wicked into the blood-stained shirt. She turned on the cold faucet, allowing the air-cooled water from the cisterns to wash away most of the crimson into a watery orange swirl. With a bit of scrubbing, the shirt was clean and white again, and she hung it on a drying rack near the back door. Suddenly realizing that her hands were tingling from the cold water, she questioned why she’d washed the shirt in the first place! Hadn’t she done enough laundry while he was gone?!

She returned to the great room and lay on the sofa with her new book and a glass of wine, hoping he’d come and eventually tell her what he’d been up to. By the second glass, Mihawk descended the stairs, dressed in a pair of crisp blue striped pajamas. After a quick snack of egg and rice, he sat down with a sigh and began reviewing the newspapers he’d missed.

Kasumi strained at her patience while she tried to give him time to settle in, but her curiosity burned with an irritating sting. Once he’d closed the first paper, she couldn’t hold back. “So what did you do?”

“Eh,” he grumbled, “Nothing really. I sailed the route I usually keep watch over and… removed any new pirates who were,” he inhaled before continuing, “trying to make their way down the Grand Line... That’s my arrangement.”

She looked back at her book. “That’s all? I thought you had some secret mission to find a certain pirate or something.”

He took a long sip of wine and rolled it around his mouth. “Eliminating new pirates serves to keep my name on people’s lips… It’s how I defend my title and attempt to find suitable opponents.”

“Seems like if you wanted to find good opponents, you’d go to the New World,” she remarked, keeping her eyes in the book.

He leaned his head back and stretched his neck against the armchair. “Eh, there are very few in the New World who will take me on... Even those that would don’t want to dirty their hands with a real fight.” His neck popped several times in succession and he let out a tired sigh. “Catching rookies as they come in allows me to see young, raw swordfighters who will never turn down a chance to fight… It also keeps the seas a bit safer for people like your Fortier.” He propped his legs on the table and crossed his ankles. “Though sometimes it becomes tedious to be challenged by only rookies.”

Kasumi nodded and sat up. “But what do you do the rest of the time? What’s it like to spend days at sea? To sleep at sea?”

“It’s boring.”

“Where did you go?”

“Ay,” he groaned, “you have too many questions.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, “It’s just… I’ve never been anywhere but here and Water Seven. I always wondered what it was like to roam as you pleased.”

“Alright, let’s see…” he hedged, “I eliminated some starving fools… some young fools, and some pretentious fools. I stopped over at a small island near Jaya—”

“Oh, what was that like?”

Her constant interruptions grated his patience, but she seemed genuinely interested. “It’s a farming village.”

“So why did you go there?”

“Because there’s a good ramen shop.”

Kasumi deflated. “I thought you went to kill people.” She allowed her disappointment to hang in the air so he’d understand what a mistake he’d made.  “So what kind of farms do they have? How big is the island? How many people are there? What did you eat?”

“Grrragh!” he protested, swatting at the air, “How many questions do you have, humandrill-hime?”

She shifted her eyes back to the book. “I’m sorry.”

Silence stifled the space between them for a few minutes until he added, “I… also made a stop at a place west of Drum Island to visit a sword dealer.”

“Oh,” she said distantly. “That sounds fun.” The silence returned and settled into the room.

He picked at his fingernails with the Kogatana for a bit; this time it was his turn to question her. “Hime-kun, you used my bath. It smells of cigarettes.”

Kasumi’s cheeks rushed with blood; she’d been so careful to cover her tracks! “Well,” she insisted, “I deserve a nice bath. You just don’t know how to enjoy the finer things. Besides, this is… my castle and I should be able to use all of it.”

“Is that so?” he mumbled. “So have you just been… taking baths and eating my food, or did you do any training?”

“I’ve doubled my training!” she said proudly.

“And you’ve kept the Norishige on you?”

“Yes, of course.” She smiled, “Even in your bath.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“It was just a joke…”

“Hm.” His eyes fell onto the North Blue fencing book on the table. “So I see you’ve been helping yourself to my library as well.”

“Well, this place isn’t exactly… what else is there to do here between sleeping and training?”

“Go ahead,” he scoffed, “Maybe you’ll learn something.” He finished his glass and stood up with a crack. “Yosh’, I’m tired. I’ll see you at breakfast, hime-kun.”

Kasumi stayed up a while longer until the fire died out. Upstairs, Mihawk fell asleep within seconds of crawling into his plush red duvet.

He awoke in the morning to a piercing shriek from downstairs, followed by silence. Could someone have followed him here? Snatching up Yoru from his bedside, he soared down the staircase and into the kitchen, where Kasumi stood pointing the Norishige in a corner. He knocked her out of the way to face the opponent and saw a huge yellow speckled snake, as thick as his leg, curled up in the corner.

He dropped his stance. “A snake, Shikkearu? Really?”

“It’s really big and it dropped down on me!” she protested.

“Bah, I thought you grew up in this place,” he said, using the side of his sword to flick the snake out the door and into the moat.

“Are you kidding?” she yelled, her eyes bulging, “Cut its head off! Don’t just put it out there to grow bigger!”

He looked at her quizzically, “Why would I kill it? I don’t kill every creature that wanders into my home, Shikkearu.”

She stood and turned back to her abandoned breakfast dishes on the stove. _“I suppose you don’t.”_

Mihawk noticed his clean shirt drying in the hallway and silently chose to help Kasumi finish cooking. Once they’d raced to complete the dishes on the stove, they sat down to eat and he peered at her through the steam of miso _._

“It will be necessary to go to Water Seven for supplies soon… unless you’d like to eat snake, hime-kun.”

She stifled an embarrassed laugh.

“And you’ll come with me,” he continued, “You can fetch my groceries while you’re staying here.”

“Fetch your groceries?” she demanded. “What do I look like? Your servant?”

He looked at her questioningly. “You’re the one who keeps complaining about having nothing to do.”

\----

During their next morning training, he sifted through his sword collection and eventually produced a fencing _epée._ “I’m going to defeat you at your own game today, little rabbit _.”_

Kasumi looked up and saw that her cutlass had been mounted on the wall above a stack of swords, another of his trophies on display in a museum with no visitors. “You know that’s mine, right? Just because I have the Norishige now doesn’t mean I’ve given up my family sword.”

“Well, it’s not a very interesting sword, but it has some historic value… Eh, you want it back, take it.”

Incensed, she lunged at him with the claymore, “ _I will. Wait for it! Right now though, this one is more fun! I’ll take them both!_ ”

He swatted away the great sword with the _epeé_ and then stood _en garde_ , his rear arm extended gracefully behind him. Kasumi briefly considered that he looked almost cute, but then banished the thought and advanced on him directly like a charging bull.

The spar proceeded predictably, with Mihawk besting her at every angle as she swung the heavy Norishige. “You’re too slow,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Are you certain you practiced while I was away?”

Kasumi’s eyes flashed with rage as she battered the _epeé_. “ _I told you I did. I’ve been training mornings and afternoons._ ” Who was he to question her? Bastard! She’d been pushing herself to work harder than ever, believing that her gift would awaken soon, and once it did, she could either best Mihawk or at least hold the castle once he’d been killed by someone else. Besides, he’d spent the last three days floating around eating ramen; how dare he lecture her about practicing? She changed her tempo and thrust at his abdomen.

“Settle down, hime-kun,” he said with a faux innocence, “you make too many mistakes when you’re angry.”

He was trying to get to her—and she knew it was working. But what could she do about it? He was just being an ass, as usual. She wanted to shut his mouth.

Allowing him to come within striking distance, she suddenly slowed her feet and feigned exhaustion, followed by a leisurely strike toward his legs. Once she’d committed to the motion and exposed an open target, the _epeé_ came at her with a zip. Predicting his attack, she snapped the claymore back and parried the blow, retreating slightly before counterattacking. 

Mihawk blocked the blows easily, but his eyes looked pleased. “Ah, that’s better _._ Did you learn that from Fortier?”

She swept her hair from her forehead. “No,” she panted, “I learned about it in a book.”

\----

The next day after morning training, Kasumi left the castle to visit the humandrills, who were beginning to grow thick coats as the weather cooled. She’d brought some small rice balls that she’d made while Mihawk was napping, and the baboons gathered around her, swallowing their treats in single bites. _“Ah, be easy now, easy! I don’t have much today.”_

Choco waddled over and presented Kasumi with an orange flower, which she promptly placed in her ponytail. _“Thank you,”_ she said, stroking the monkey’s arms. Their leader, Takeo, was not to be outdone and slapped a flower atop his head proudly, brandishing his Yoru-shaped sword as a threat toward the group.

Kasumi laughed, _“Oh Takkun! Don’t worry—you’re still in charge. Here, have another bite.”_ He greedily swallowed the rice ball and puffed out his chest. She nodded at him and stood up; the mist was rolling in thickly and the air had turned much colder. _“I’ll be back in a few days. Be good.”_

After his nap, Mihawk loomed in the doorway during her afternoon training, observing as she struck and parried at invisible opponents. The humid winter sunlight created a halo of fuzzy hair around her head. Her shoulders seemed to have grown overnight, and her feet were much surer of themselves than they’d been last week. She performed a few more parry- _riposte_ - _remise_ sequences before exhaling loudly and escaping to the cool air of the porch, where steam rose from her sweaty skin.

Satisfied that she was working hard, he headed to the library to look for a certain book about named swords; he was sure there was an entry on the Norishige. Scanning the room, he realized that several books were out of place and that the stack on his desk had been reordered. Such a nosy little rabbit! His eye caught a white object in the fireplace—a wad of paper? Uncrumpling it, he read the entry about the Shikkearu family: “confined to the swamp... deceitfulness… unpleasant nature… mastery of telepathy… savage...” He placed the paper back into the fireplace and lit it with a match, looking on with disinterest as flames swallowed the page.

\----

The next morning when she arrived at breakfast, Mihawk was already sitting at the table. “You’re late,” he complained.

“ _Eh, no, I think you’re early_ ,” she argued, wiping the sleep from her eyes.  

“Please eat quickly. You’re going with me to Water Seven for supplies.”

“You mean shopping? We’re going grocery shopping?” she laughed.

“I take care of my own needs. Food is a need… If I can’t grow something here, then I have to buy it,” he countered. “But… it is sometimes, eh, tedious to be in public due to my particular reputation. So you’ll take over shopping for me.”

She curled her toes. “I don’t know how to do grocery shopping.”

“You’ll figure it out. Just choose food that looks good,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Mihawk’s trip to Water Seven took only an hour, though it had taken Henri almost three and a half. She crouched behind Mihawk’s seat, hiding from the sun and wind. _“How do you sail so quickly? Aren’t you even going to unfurl the sails?”_

He turned around and squinted at her in the sun. “Eh, the sails are just for exceptionally bad weather, really. My ship goes where I tell her to.”

Kasumi gave him an incredulous look. _“Of course it does—that makes perfect sense.”_

“Those with _Haoshoku haki*_ can bend the sea currents to their will,” he explained. “I don’t expect you to understand it.”  He thought of his father, who could swim any distance without using a boat at all, and Shanks, who could arrive at a destination within minutes of his departure. His _Haoshoku haki_ had been a bit of an unwelcome gift from Rayleigh—Mihawk considered it lazy to use it to knock out fodder—but the benefits at sea were undeniable.

The boat approached and then circled the island to dock in a secluded alcove. “Alright,” he announced, “we walk from here.” After following a dizzying path of bridges and staircases, they arrived at the back door of a small store. Mihawk opened the door and entered the shop without knocking, startling an old man. “ _Ossan_ ,” he said flatly.

“Ah, Taka no Me!” the old man sputtered. “Your usual grocery order then?”

“Mm,” he grunted, counting out several bills and placing them on the counter.

“Excellent, I’ll have your boat loaded.”

Mihawk nodded and led Kasumi into an alleyway next to the store. “So that’s all there is to it?” she asked. “I think I can handle that.”

 _“Iya_ , that’s only the basics: rice, flour, barley, spices, canned goods, things like that. What you need to do… is shop for produce, meat, and eggs. Go down that street and purchase some oranges and melons.”  

She twisted her knee. “Um, how do I…”

“You annoy me, Shikkearu,” he groaned, “Just watch... But stand away from me. I don’t want anyone thinking… I have an associate.”

She observed him approach a fruit stall as the crowd parted around him. His overcoat seemed to send out waves behind him as the realization of who he was spread through the crowd. At the stall, he flatly demanded the best oranges and green melons, which were bagged and handed to him reverently. He placed a bill in the seller’s hand and walked away without waiting for his change.

Back in the alley, he shrugged at Kasumi. “You can handle that, right, princess?” He pressed a bill into her palm. “Go buy some potatoes.”

Kasumi took the money in her sweaty hand and headed toward the stall with the biggest potatoes. Excusing herself repeatedly, she worked her way through the crowd to stand in front of the vendor.

“Yes, Miss, what do you want?” a smiling dark-eyed woman asked.

“I want your finest potatoes,” Kasumi spouted, fists clenched at her side.

The woman gave her a skeptical look. “Well, these are all fine potatoes. You’re welcome to find some that you like…”

Kasumi blushed and superficially looked through the bin before quickly selecting a dozen potatoes and passing the crumpled bill to the woman. She turned and strode away, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Miss? Miss, your change!” The princess was too embarrassed to turn around. “Geeze _,_ what a weird girl,” she heard the woman mutter.

Kasumi concentrated on her footsteps until she returned to the alley.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Mihawk asked.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” she admitted. “How do you know which to buy? And how many should I get? And what is ‘change’?”

\----

They sailed home in the afternoon. Once they’d returned to Kuraigana Island and put away the groceries, Kasumi received a short lesson in produce selection and Mihawk’s flimsy advice about money management. She felt a bit talked down to, but she needed to know how to do this, if not for Mihawk, then for herself once he’d been killed.

They both took a nap—Mihawk because he’d missed two naps already today, and Kasumi because her adrenaline was shot from shopping. Afterwards, they prepared dinner and sat at the kitchen table, each engrossed in reading.

“Damned fool,” he muttered, turning the page of his newspaper.

“Who is?” Kasumi asked.

“Eh, some magician in Alabasta stabbed a girl in the eye in a knife-throwing demonstration in front of the King. You have to be… quite stupid to bungle something that simple.”

She shrugged. “Well, with tricks like that, you’re taking a chance. A butterfly might flap its wings and cause a series of events that causes your knife to land off target. Doesn’t mean they’re stupid, just unlucky.”

“No, Shikkearu,” he corrected her, “with the proper planning and discipline, any dumb knife trick is quite easy to master.”

She was intrigued. “Any trick? Show me some.”

“Wahaha, humandrill girl _,_ have you forgotten that I was raised in a pirate bar?” He unsheathed the Kogatana and danced it upon his knuckles. “Give me your hand.”

She hesitantly pushed her wrist toward him over the table. He laid her palm flat and spread her fingers apart with his. The knife flipped forward and returned to the starting position like a typewriter five times, and Kasumi felt a small surge of heat on her fingertips. After a blur of motion, he nodded at her. “Look.”

She held up her hand and saw that “Shikkearu” had been expertly etched into her fingernails. “Mm hm hm hm,” she grinned, “that’s neat, but what if—like I said—something unexpected happens?”

“Try it,” he said flatly.

“Try what?”

“Move your hand unexpectedly,” he said. “I told you, an expert at these sorts of things will never need to worry about… maiming their assistant.”

“Uh, I’m not sure I want to do that. I like having all my fingers.”

“Eh, if I make a mistake, I’ll give you the castle,” he said nonchalantly.

“That… sounds like a fair trade,” she conceded, offering her other hand. She placed it onto the table and began randomly twitching and waving her fingers.

Mihawk’s eyes dilated and focused intently on Kasumi’s hand. His face relaxed and his hand moved almost automatically, as he read each tiny movement and foresaw the next. When Kasumi opened her eyes, her hands were still intact and her fingernails were decorated with her family name on both hands.

“Eeeeee!” she squealed with a grin. “Show me another trick!”

Mihawk smirked and brought his middle finger around the back side of the blade, flicking it toward her then immediately catching it in midair. “Hold up that orange, hime-kun.” Once she did, he passed his hand over it with the knife spinning and twirling, creating spirals of peel that landed on the table to form a picture of a rabbit wearing a top hat.

“Ah, bravo, bravo!” she laughed. Mihawk saw her eyes crinkle in the same way they had when he’d seen her walking with Shakky. She next placed the orange on top of her head. “But can you do the most famous trick?”

He gave her a condescending look and launched the knife without a pause. It seemed to revolve around the orange briefly before lodging in the cabinet door behind her head.

“You missed!” she laughed. No sooner had she spoken the words than the orange sections began to fall neatly from her head, each clean from peel and pith. She struggled to catch all of the pieces before they hit the floor and threw the last one at Mihawk, who caught it midair and tossed it into his mouth.

“I’m impressed,” she admitted, “Maybe you can teach me a trick or two?”

He frowned. “Shikkearu, I’m afraid these tricks… won’t serve you much in the real world. You need to… practice your basic skills so you can leave here and set out on your own as soon as possible.”

Kasumi sat up straight and dropped her smile. She hadn’t come here to make friends or to become a magician. “Right,” she acknowledged, “of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Haoshoku haki: Conqueror’s haki; King’s haki  
> I have been trying to find the person who came up with the fan theory of Haoshoku haki allowing users to control water currents, but I can't seem to find it. I think it was on OroJackson.com or reddit. If you happen to know, please comment so I can credit them!  
> Join me on Tumblr for this chapter's post at: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/180940968521/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-16


	17. Work Horses

At the kitchen table the next morning, Kasumi was attempting to twirl a paring knife over her knuckles when Mihawk interrupted her concentration. “Shikkearu, there are… chores that must be accomplished before the first freeze of winter.”

“Alright,” she mumbled, the knife wobbling hesitantly as she slowly worked it across the back of her hand.

“Today the cistern must be emptied and cleaned.”

She curled her lip. “After my morning training…”

“Eh, this will be your morning training… And your afternoon training. There are some old clothes you can borrow—”

She dropped the knife on the table. “Old clothes? Exactly what are we doing?”

“As I said, the cistern must be drained and cleaned… Eh, I thought this was your castle, hime-kun? This is part of living here. Unless, of course… you’d rather live somewhere else...”

“Fine,” she sighed, “Where do I find these old clothes?”

“Eh, there’s some work pants and shirts from your family’s time here…” he grumbled.

After a light breakfast, he directed her to the closet of an empty bedroom on the second floor and waited in the hallway until she’d changed. She emerged dressed in a pair of work pants held up by a canvas belt with a white long-sleeved shirt that was much too big.

“Why do I get the feeling you just enjoy seeing me dressed like an idiot?” she scoffed.

Mihawk tucked away the smile that threatened to form at the edges of his mouth. “Why do you assume that someone else’s house would contain suitable apparel for you, princess? Perhaps you should have packed more than tank tops and pajamas when you came to usurp me…”

He led her to the top of the castle and pulled down a ladder at the end of a damp hallway. “Up,” he barked, gesturing toward the ceiling. She scaled the ladder with him following impatiently behind.

The top of the castle was covered in a thick carpet of moss. It was cool and windy on the roof, and it seemed as though she could see every curling black hill on Kuraigana Island peeking through the morning fog. From above the trees, she could listen to the island in a new way; gone was the wet rustling of snakes and monkeys in the leaves, along with the ever-present splish-sploshing of ground-level activity. Up here, she heard only the birds that made their home in the canopy of the swamp, the roaring of the waves, and the buzzing of insects that came to investigate the unfamiliar visitors.

He walked ahead of her on the blanket of moss and opened a hatch on the tank closest to them. Mihawk drained the tank, surprised to see that the water level was quite a bit lower than he’d expected, and then told Kasumi to climb inside.

She pouted her lips. “Inside? Can’t we clean it from out here?”

“Someone your size should work from the interior,” he replied. Having her climb inside the tank would be a welcome relief for him; his lanky frame had been uncomfortably cramped the last time he’d cleaned it. He handed her a brush and set her to scrub the walls while he worked on the gutters and overflow tank.

After scouring the metal until her biceps began to sting, Kasumi poked her head out of the hatch. “Taka no Me, is the water I’ve been drinking really this gross?”

Mihawk rolled his eyes. Did her naivety know no bounds? “Eh, a series of filters… exists before it reaches the tap.”

She ducked inside again and continued scrubbing at the tank walls with the brush as the oversized shirt became heavy with water. “So what will we drink now that it’s empty?” she called, her voice echoing inside the tank.

Mihawk scooped two more handfuls of sludge from the gutter before replying. “That’s too much talking. Can’t you just work?” It was no wonder her sword skills were so lacking; her propensity to gab and dally about left her no time to analyze and perfect the task at hand! If she were only a bit more focused! A bit more worldly, more seasoned, more experienced… She’d only come months ago from living in a barn!

She kept her silence during their daily training. Why did she insist on being so talkative the remainder of their time together? And why did she persist in causing him so much distress?

He sat hunched over with his hands resting on his thighs as he reflected on her ignorance. “Water will be limited for a few days until the rain serves us anew. There are a few barrels stored in the pantry… You really did live like a princess here, Shikkearu… I suppose you don’t know about the septic tank either?”

“Uh, the what?” she called.

“No matter...”

She pressed her shoulders into the task, determined to prove to him that she was more than just a spoiled princess. Her shirt sleeves flopped and slapped against themselves with every grunt, and the body of the shirt began to cling to her skin. In due time, the giant shirt grew unbearable, and after quickly glancing outside to make sure he wasn’t paying attention, she tore off the baggy sleeves and tied the placket ends of the shirt around her ribs.

They worked in silence for a long while, each building up a slick sheen of sweat that refused to evaporate. Eventually, Mihawk appeared at the access hatch. “My tasks are complete. Are you finished yet?”

Kasumi wiped her brow and sat back. “Almost,” she huffed, leaning into the shadow he cast into the tank.

He looked down at the rabbit, who seemed now to be more of a frog. She was crouched on the floor of the cistern, leaning back against the wall, with the shirt tied just under her breasts. “Shikkearu, tell me why does a princess have so many scars? You appear to have been used as a practice dummy.”

She leaned forward and continued her work with a huff. “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s part of growing up as a Shikkearu… I’ve been training since before I could walk.”

“No one trains a princess…. by trying to break her ribs… That one is quite recent,” he said, nodding at the “Y” on her left side. “You were stabbed with a fencing saber, no? …I must have misestimated Fortier…”

She sighed and dropped her arm to her side. “Eh, it was Henri’s son, Marius. He’s… we… he doesn’t like me very much,” she laughed nervously. “I could have beaten him—of course!—but he surprised me while I was sleeping and I caught his training sabre in the ribs. I suppose I’m lucky it wasn’t his real sword,” she smiled half-heartedly.  

She pushed her feet against the floor of the cistern and stood to take a fresh breath from outside the container. “So, a few months later, I left to try my hand at bounty hunting. I couldn’t stay and force Henri to watch his two remaining children kill each other.”

“Hm, so you were defeated by him. Then defeated as a bounty hunter. And then you decided to come here?” He tilted his head. “Little rabbit, why don’t you learn instead of setting yourself up against stronger and stronger enemies?”

She threw the brush at him and launched herself halfway through the opening. “I’ve survived this long,” she cried, punching hopelessly at the air near his face, “I’m doing all I can!”

His eyes briefly glowed with indignation. She was astonishingly irritating! So relentless and merciless! So endear—

"Now, now,” he said—as much to himself as to her—“there’s no need to get angry… Er, please finish your task.” He handed the brush back to her and stepped back.

She flung it downward, slinging dirty water across him. “You ask me about something and then make light of my reply. Every time! How about you answer a question for me?”

Mihawk’s abdomen contracted into a stifled guffaw. “Kukuku, humandrill-hime, what concerns you?”

“Who are you? How did someone so young become a Shichibukai? Why did you choose this island?” She shot him a snarl and began working on the final section of the tank.

“I’m Dracule Mihawk,” he deadpanned. Gradually noticing her annoyance with his reply, he decided to add more information. “I trained my entire life to capture my title as a swordsman. I’ve fought more battles than most could imagine… Um, when I was twenty, I was offered a position as a Shichibukai… In exchange for forbearance of my mother’s bounty and the freedom to do as I wish, I accepted... This island is convenient to me… because it was unoccupied, near the center of Paradise, and keeps people away from me. That’s all, I suppose.”

“And you think any of that means you’re entitled to this place?” she growled, struggling to keep up the furious pace she’d established.

Mihawk exhaled and rolled his eyes. “I’m sharing it with you now, aren’t I? Do your chores.”

Kasumi buckled down to finish scrubbing and then crawled out of the hatch with a grunt. The tank was rinsed with a barrel of fresh water before the two headed downstairs into the castle.

Each step on the staircase sent a fiery shock through her lower back and thighs. Every muscle from her neck to her wrist was screaming for relief. He allotted her a few gallons of water to clean up, and they both settled into separate rooms for a long nap. That night, she was relieved to hear the rain arrive and begin filling the cistern once again.

\----

In a few days, he set her to work with him on the garden, harvesting what could be pickled and uprooting the dying warm-weather plants. In their place, they planted cabbage, greens, turnips, daikon, and winter squash—despite Kasumi’s insistence that the seeds would never survive the soggy, frozen winter.

Once the seeds of last winter’s survivors had been sown, the two retired inside for a quick cleanup and a lunch of soup and sandwiches. Mihawk quizzed her knowledge of gardening, soon realizing that she had more experience than him at the topic.

Still, he couldn’t let her have the upper hand. Stuffing the last section of his sandwich into his mouth, he stood and carried his plate to the sink before reminding her, “It’s not as if you have any practical experience on _this_ island. It would… serve you well to learn through observation once in a while… instead of spouting off trivia.”

Kasumi sat and fumed at her bowl as he exited the kitchen. She tossed her dishes into the sink and then lifted the towel covering the bowl of yeast she’d started earlier. It was bubbling into a nice foam, spreading out evenly and thickly, proliferating… duplicating… claiming territory…

“Rabbit.”

She jumped and locked eyes with him through the kitchen window.

“Will you be joining me to lend your gardening expertise, or will you… continue to dawdle along as you did on the roof?”

Rage was channeled from her ears to her feet, bypassing her mind entirely. In less than ten paces, she’d come toe-to-toe with him. “I was working on _your_ dinner, jackass. These seeds are going to mold and then freeze. I’m a hundred percent certain of it. Wouldn’t you rather eat well tonight?”

In one enormous sidestep, he sprang to the wood shed and brought out an axe. A few dozen logs seemed to follow his hand and stacked themselves before him like noodles. He flicked his wrist only a few times before the pile was reduced to mulch. “Spread this over the vegetable beds, feisty rabbit _._ Of course nothing would survive without a blanket of protection…”

She squinted up at him and smirked as she tossed the mulch into place. _“Fine. I don’t care. Prove me right, why don’t you? It’s not going to grow. And you’re just being a jerk! Why do you even **own** an axe? Just use your sword. I thought you could cut anything…”_

“Eh, it’s proper that one should use the right tool for the job, hime-kun.”

Kasumi snorted and swatted at the mulch until an even layer covered the garden beds, granting the organisms below a slim chance at germination.

Without granting her a moment of rest, he next announced that it was time for the final winter task. “I’ll return shortly,” he droned, slinging the axe over his shoulder and starting off over the drawbridge. Kasumi headed inside to brew some cold barley tea and prepare the vegetables for tonight’s dinner.

Once she’d chopped the veggies and set the tea to chill, she added flour to the yeast and began working a nice plump bread dough. Finding only dirty dishrags and a severe lack of pretty tea towels, she repurposed one of his clean handkerchiefs to lie over the bowl of dough as it sat happily on the warmer atop the stove to rise.

A sudden tremendous racket of snapping branches and rustling leaves caused her breath to catch in her throat. Looking out the window, she stood agape as Mihawk turned the corner carrying two impossibly huge trees, one on each shoulder. He rolled them off his arms and began hacking away the lower branches as he worked the trees into firewood-sized logs in the rear yard. Without conscious thought, she poured him a cup of barley tea and carried it outside.

“Hm,” he acknowledged, pausing for only a moment to wipe his forehead with a handkerchief before swallowing the drink in one gulp, “It… appears that I only possess one serviceable axe, so you won’t be doing any chopping today…”

“There’s always the Norishige,” she offered playfully.

He scowled and handed her the empty cup.

“It was just a joke,” she explained,

Mihawk was unimpressed. “Get the cart from the wood shed and begin stacking these logs inside. It will be dark soon.” Kasumi loaded and unloaded the cart again and again, a wave upon the shore, while he finished dismembering the trees.

Once the work was complete, she quickly showered and began finishing up the meal she’d planned. With her baguettes now cooking in the oven, she chopped the remainder of the garden’s zucchini, eggplant, onions, peppers, and tomatoes into a garlicky base. Ratatouille was one of the first meals she’d learned to prepare with Odette, and the savory scent instantly brought her back to the wood-paneled kitchen where she’d spent most of her time outside of the barn.

Anticipating that Mihawk wouldn’t like such an exotic meal, she prepared some rice and a bit of sautéed fish to serve on the side. Once the baguettes had a slightly firm crust, she turned off the oven to let them sit and called for him to join her. He arrived freshly bathed, wearing a set of brown _jinbei._

“Ah, this time, you sit in the seat of honor! This is a North Blue dish I learned from Henri’s wife,” she explained. “Please try to enjoy it. It’s good for you and I used the rest of the summer produce.”

He greedily ate the ratatouille with rice and informed her that he liked it, though he privately thought it had far too much garlic. After dinner, he opened a bottle of _Limnio_ in the great room and poured them each a tall glass. Positioning a pillow behind his right shoulder, he settled in on the sofa with his newspapers.

Kasumi was nearly halfway through “Strategies for Close-Quarter Combat” when she noticed him writhe uncomfortably. “Does your shoulder hurt?” she asked.

“No, of course not.”

“Let me see,” she demanded, closing the book.

He shifted his eyes toward her as she crossed the room to sit next to him on the sofa.

“Turn.”

He obeyed and rotated his torso within her reach while she slid her hands up his shirt and peeled it upward, folding him forward into a soft hunch.

She pressed her palms against his solid shoulder and dug her fingertips into his trapezius muscle. The muscle lay just below the skin, with only a tiny bit of padding between her fingers and her target. Within a few minutes, she’d released the tension and began to feel something more like clay instead of a mass of twitching knots. 

She patted his arms. “Isn’t that better?”

“Humph,” he scoffed, “and why does a so-called princess know how to knead a man’s muscles?”

She gave a grin. “Eh… I told you I took care of the horses… They’re just like you… stubborn enough to try to push their strength.”

He huffed. “Am I a horse to you?”

She giggled. “Eh, kind of? Almost?”

She rubbed along the lines of his back muscles and began to loosen the rest of his hide. Mihawk closed his eyes and relaxed until he realized that he’d been neglecting his daily strength training in favor of preparing for a winter with the humandrill girl. Her small but strong hands ran up to his collarbone, ending in squeezing out his deltoids.

Suddenly, she stopped as an image appeared in her mind, feeling almost as real as the flesh in her hands: an image of a marble being dropped onto a taut bed sheet. A soft but solid landing. The impression undeniable and definitive, with creases spreading out around it in every direction. Kasumi’s skin crawled with chills and she drew away from him suddenly, letting his shirt fall back into place.  

“Eh?” he asked.

“I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “I wasn’t trying to…”

Mihawk grunted sharply. “Mm. It’s fine. Feels much better… Thank you.”

She brought her hands back into her own space and stayed on the sofa with him for the rest of the night, curled up with her feet pointed toward him as they passed the newspapers back and forth.

\----

They trained twice the next day, spending the afternoon at the ruined arena of Hiroshi’s former stable. Takeo watched nervously from the trees as Mihawk gently grabbed the young woman’s wrist and corrected her form in the orange light of early evening.

“Takkun, is that you?” she called. _“Do you want to play-fight with me?”_ The primate waddled out from the trees, hissing and posing at Mihawk as he neared them.

“Takkun?” he asked. “You’ve given them names?”

Kasumi darted in front of him to stroke the monkey’s arms. “Only the ones I really like. Takkun has been their leader since I was a child. He’s not the smartest one, but he’s very strong and a good fighter. Wanna see?” She got into position to face the beast and lunged toward him with a grin.

Takeo quickly parried the blow with his Yoru-like sword and leapt to slash at her side. He was surprisingly quick for his size, and although they were each holding back their strength, it was a nice change from fighting with the invincible Shichibukai. The friendly battle continued until she’d pinned him against a pile of fallen stones, after which she patted his head, offered him a bit of baguette, and sent him off into the swamp. _“That’s a good boy. Yes, you’re very strong.”_

“Bah,” Mihawk scoffed, “That wasn’t a real fight… You’ve probably never seen their true power. They’re different opponents when you’re fighting them for the island.”

“Well, you didn’t have to _fight_ them for it… You could have just given them treats,” she muttered.  “Besides, I’ve never seen your true power, either…”

“It’s not necessary for me to… demonstrate… skills you’re not practicing. Right tool for the job, remember, eh?”

Kasumi’s curiosity was piqued. “What kind of skills?” she asked, grabbing his forearm. _Show her._

He snapped away as soon as he heard the clamoring intrusion from her mind. “Don’t buzz at me, cricket!”

“I’m just curious,” she admitted, turning to cross the arena as a light mist began to fall. “Henri never holds back on me.”

Mihawk scoffed, “Do you truly believe that?”

“Of course! He’s told me so many times!”

“Hime-kun, if that man has trained you with every skill he knows, then he knows no skills.”

She pivoted and put her hand on her hip. “Why don’t you show me one then, _kensei_?” *

Mihawk’s face darkened as his frown became a scowl. A roaring sound filled the swamp, silencing the distant birds and humandrills. Smoothly swinging Yoru overhead, he dispatched a shockwave that sped along the ground, chewing up the mud until it reached an ancient column and shattered it into dust with a colossal explosion, followed by stillness.

Kasumi’s hand fell from her hip as dust filled her nose and open mouth. Mihawk glared at her with palpable consternation and then announced that training was over. They walked back to the castle in silence, the mist softening the fresh tension between them.

\----

After dinner, Kasumi sat on the circular landing that overlooked the moat, a glass of wine in hand as she gazed out over the swamp. She wished she had more cigarettes. Things had been a bit awkward since this afternoon, when Mihawk had demonstrated his slash. She wasn’t sure what reaction he’d been expecting her to have: she couldn’t decide if he’d been trying to impress her, or to prove a point, or to intimidate her, but he’d somehow accomplished all three.

Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps vibrating the landing. “Something interesting outside, hime-kun?”

“Oh, I was just thinking that soon it will be too cold to relax out here, so I thought I’d enjoy it tonight.”

He sat down mechanically on the bench and stared into the swamp. “Did I frighten you today?”

“No! Of course not,” she scoffed.

“Good.”

A flock of birds rose up from the trees and then resettled, gradually quieting until the island was silent again.

“I didn’t intend to,” he added.

“Well, you didn’t.”

He brought his glass to his lips but paused just long enough to say it: “What I showed you is only a beginner’s skill. It’s hardly noteworthy. Perhaps you can acquire some version of it yourself.” He swallowed a few gulps and waited on her reply.

“Sure, yeah, I’ve seen some distance techniques like that. Just… not as… violent. I wasn’t expecting you to…”

After a long pause, she found a topic that she assumed would be non-confrontational. “There are some books in your library in another language…”  

“Mm,” he acknowledged.

“Well, what are they?”

“They’re from my time in Wano…”

“Wano is a closed country,” she pointed out, “Everyone knows that. When did you go there?”

“Eh, my father… dropped me there to study swordsmanship for a few years in my late teens. There are many fine swordsmen there… Do you know the story of Ryuma the King?”

Mihawk’s earlier standoffishness dissipated as he summarized the tale of the greatest hero of Wano Kuni while Kasumi nodded politely. They sat in silence until her cheek fell onto his bicep, where she dozed for a while as he finished his glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * kensei: honorary title given to a master swordsman
> 
> This chapter's Tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181027415821/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-17
> 
> Mihawk's Wine Selections: Limnio  
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181028207956/ch-17-features-limnio-an-ancient-greek-wine-often


	18. Joyeuse

During the next morning’s training, Mihawk chose a cup-hilt rapier—explaining that its name was the _Destreza—_ and swept in with a flurry of thrusts Kasumi was barely able to dodge. Her speed with the heavy Norishige was improving, but she still couldn’t move it quickly enough to parry his strikes. Springing backward in her most complex evasive route, she flitted to and fro while he slashed at her head.

Mihawk stiffened as he held back his strength and attempted to maintain a predictable pattern that the princess could manage. The rapier was obviously too quick for her to follow.

“It’s a swordfight, Shikkearu, not a ducking and weaving contest. Employ your weapon.”

She hopped backward a few paces to catch her breath. “It’s too fast. I know where you’re going, but I can’t stop it.”

He swatted the Norishige in a circular arc that drove the sword downward and pressed against its width with the thin blade of the rapier.

“Bah! So adjust your strategy! The rabbit has teeth and claws, no? Again.”

Kasumi was prepared for his sequence of attacks this time, but she had no ideas on how to block the barrage of rapier thrusts. The claymore was much too heavy to bring around to each angle he targeted, and she was well aware that any successful parry would be instantly met with another expert strike. The rapier zipped beside her head, nicking her ear and removing a few strands of hair near her temple.

The hair wafted to the floor, and the top of her right ear suddenly felt as if it were glowing with warmth. “You son of a bitch! You cut me!”

He shrugged and shifted his weight. “Only slightly. I thought it might inspire you…”

Incensed, she advanced and took a quick chop at his arm, which gave her a millisecond of rest. He easily countered the blow but then stood up straight and cocked his head slightly, which Kasumi took as an invitation to strike. She crossed over her leading foot and spewed out the quickest fury of slashes she could muster, welcoming the familiar sensation of anger boiling into action—but Mihawk wasn’t looking at her. He was looking out toward the patio, flicking the rapier automatically to block each of her strikes.

She dropped her stance. “Is there something out there?”

“…Eh, it’s nothing. Only a boat passing by… Shikkearu, I… suggest you work at improving your speed,” he said distantly.

Kasumi huffed and struck at him once more for good measure before she went to retrieve a towel for her ear. Mihawk had ventured out to the patio and absentmindedly began his weight routine. Once the bleeding stopped, she started in on her practice with a dummy she’d rigged up from some old armor and a length of trunk from the trees Mihawk had splintered.

Improve her speed, huh? Did he even understand how inhumanly quick he was? Just because she couldn’t block _his_ blows didn’t mean she couldn’t block a normal person’s! Was he so out of touch? Why did he always have to be so infuriatingly—

“Shikkearu? Are you expecting Fortier?” Mihawk gazed casually at the ocean as he raised the barbell to his shoulders.

“Oh! Dammit!” she yelped, slinging the sword across to slice the chest of the dummy, “I forgot again!” For the second time, she’d been so absorbed in her new pattern of life on the island that she’d forgotten all about Henri! “How far away is he?”

“Eh… for… an old man in a sailboat… I’d say he’s at least an hour away yet…”

“Alright,” she breathed, “just let me get cleaned up. And don’t talk to him without me.”

Determined to avoid the frantic awkwardness that had overwhelmed their first group meeting, she jogged upstairs and changed out of her bloodied shirt and into a crisp blue button-up. She washed her face and ear, then rearranged her hair from a fuzzy, lumpy ponytail into a smooth French braid. What would she tell Henri once he’d noticed she had a new weapon? What would he say if he knew she’d done winter chores here? That she wanted to stay here? She ran her hands over the shirt and exhaled through pursed lips. Henri was easy. He’d believe anything. It was Mihawk who was impervious to her suggestions. Keeping them both happy meant remaining excruciatingly positive for the next few hours.

Little by little, a small sailboat grew larger on the horizon, and she headed down to the dock to wave him in. _“Hey, Henri! Come this way to the dock!”_

Once within her range, he tossed a rope to the princess and she tied off the line. An easy smile spread over her face as she tugged him closer.

“No rowboat this time?” she asked.

“Hoh-hoh,” he laughed, “I borrowed this one from the cargo crew. Hime-sama, you look well,” he said, eyeing the Norishige. He struggled out of the boat while hoisting a large drawstring bag. “I’ve brought you some provisions for the cold weather! I hope you’ll find them useful.”

“I’m sure I will,” she chirped, slinging the bag over her shoulder and leading him by the arm up to the castle. “Come in! Sit down. It’s so good to see you again!”

Henri tossed his body into the first seat he reached in the kitchen and struggled to catch his breath. The princess, knowing well how exhausted he must be, got to work on a quick snack while humming a pleasant tune so he wouldn’t feel the need to make conversation.

She whisked a dishtowel toward his lap and turned to deliver a platter of salted vegetables with a glass of melon-water. _“Mon cher_ Henri! Thank you so much for coming! Did you know, just the other day, I made Odette’s ratatouille! I miss you both so much and I would really love to hear about what you’ve been up to and how business is going and what Bisou’s been like since—“

“Euh, hime-sama. Are you… alone?” Henri asked between swallows.

Kasumi smiled tautly. “No, I’m sure he’s here somewhere… What time is it? He’s probably napping,” she said, knowing full well that he was most likely listening from the hallway.

Henri’s voice lowered to a whisper. “What happened to your weapons?”

Kasumi had known the topic would come up, but she wished it hadn’t been so soon! She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Well, they weren’t very effective against him—in training with him. I have them still, of course, both of them—they’re undamaged—but he has a very nice sword collection and I wanted to give this one a try...  It’s the Norishige.” She offered the sword to him for inspection.

He ran his finger along the blade. “Pine bark pattern…” he murmured, “ _bien, ça marche*_ …I’d intended to move you to a heavier sword soon anyhow.”

She was surprised at how well he’d taken the news. “You’re not mad at me?”

“Of course not!” he laughed, “You make your own decisions now, _non?”_ He took a long drink of water and sat back in his chair. “Kasumi-chan, if you’re happy—and safe—then I know better than to try to stop you… Euh, you **are** safe, right?” His eyes fixed on her bloodied ear.

Her eyes widened as she nodded and smiled. _“Well, he’s not an easy teacher, but he’s agreed I can live here until I’m strong enough to set out on my own. I believe I’ll be able to take the island as soon as he’s killed in some stupid duel, right? Eventually, a man with a target like his will be struck down by **some** one.”_

Ignoring the rest of the information she’d relayed, he fixated on one word: “Teacher?! Is he your teacher now?! _Nom de Dieu!_ Hime-sama, he may be a great swordsman, but he’ll never understand you more than me!”

“Oh, Henri,” she cried, reaching for his forearm as he jumped back, “I don’t mean **that**!”

“—Don’t try to change my mind about this, _ma petite!_   Train with him all you want; learn all you can from him—hell _,_ fight him if you must!—but don’t you dare throw your Henri away like an old boot! Your father trusted you to me for a reason.” He leaned forward and stared into her eyes: “You still have much to learn. He probably doesn't even know how to teach you.” His lip twitched, willing her to listen and obey him just one more time. “Don’t lose yourself in these new circumstances.”

Kasumi’s vision blurred and her throat tightened as she began to speak. “I don’t mean to say he’s… _that you’re not my sensei. You know how important you are to me, Riri. It’s just that we’ve been training every day together and he’s taught me some new ideas and he has a lot of books I’ve been reading—”_

“BOOKS?! _Nom de Dieu,_ you’ve replaced me with books?”

 _“No, Henri, listen! Why are you being so difficult? There’s nothing wrong with learning from new sources… and I haven’t replaced you,”_ she sniffled, _“Don’t be such a fool.”_

Henri’s eyes crinkled with concern; for once, he’d been the one who was too quick to anger.  “My deepest apologies, dear Princess. Don’t cry, now,” he said softly as he cradled her hand between his, “Your success is most important to me, of course. You’re my lord and my treasure!”

Mihawk rolled his eyes in the hallway. Was Fortier so easily played by her tears? Any manner of praise or comfort she offered was likely to be a falsehood or a manipulation. Besides… _he_ was the top swordsman, and she’d hardly complimented _him_ at all! Her soft words were reserved only for those she was in the process of deceiving, it seemed. 

Henry wiped at the corner of his eye and squeezed the princess’ hand. “I only want to protect you from, perhaps, losing the progress we've made toward controlling and containing your... talent." He honked into his handkerchief and added, “It won’t be long now until you’ve mastered your fighting skills! Then, you can be rid of old Henri!”

“Mm-hm-hm-hm,” she laughed, “I’ll never be rid of you, Riri!”

Grinning widely, he gestured toward the sack she’d carried inside. “I brought you some supplies for the cold weather. If you insist on staying here.”

“Hm, thank you,” she said as she loosened the drawstring. She removed the items and gushed over each inclusion: There were a few pairs of warm pajamas, a long black coat, new boots, cigarettes, more books, a bolt of flannel, and another weirdly-wrapped package from Odette. _Just how many tampons does she think I need?_ she thought to herself while admiring the new supplies.

Her show of gratitude was interrupted by an emotionless drone: “Fortier’s bearing gifts? And I’m empty-handed?”

Henri turned the tables by smiling and digging into his inside coat pocket. “ _Pas de chance!”*_ he smiled, handing Mihawk a bottle of Pinot Noir. “Hoh-hoh! This is from my own vines. From North Blue grapes!”

“Hm,” Mihawk grunted, snatching the wine from Fortier’s hand. He stepped into the pantry and added the bottle to his collection as Henri’s eyes widened upon spying the vast array.

“Eh, Kasumi-chan,” he asked, “tell me about your doings the past few weeks. I hope I didn’t alarm you by arriving a few days late.”

“Oh, not at all,” she replied, suddenly realizing that she hadn’t even noticed he was late. “Let’s see… what I’ve been doing… um… training? Reading? The humandrills all seem to remember me now… And I planted that garden behind you… I—”

“The princess dirtied her hands with shopping amongst the commoners of Water Seven,” Mihawk added.

“O-hime-sama! You can’t go in public! If someone realizes who you are—”

The Shichibukai cut him off with a scoff. “No one concerns themselves with a silly girl buying groceries, Fortier. Let someone come for her; the tree only grows stronger in the wind.”

Henri pressed his lips together, obviously wanting but unwilling to argue with a Warlord. Placing his cup on the table, he asked her again, “Let me see what you’ve learned, ma petite. Do you have time for a lesson with old Henri?”

“Yes, of course,” she said cheerfully, “I’ll show you where I’ve been training!”

She took her gifts to her room and then led Henri down the hall toward the east wing while shooting barbs at Mihawk. _“Just stay out of this.”_

Kasumi pushed open the door to the sparring room with a stiff arm. “It looks just like the one we used to have at home…”

Henri entered and slowly spun around. “ _Sacre bleu_ … These swords…” He began to explore the collection around the perimeter of the room, marveling at the piles of blades on the floor and hanging on the wall. “Is this… is this the Tizona? And this the Ishikiri? _Putain de bordel de merde!*_ Is that Joyeuse?!” He stood gape-mouthed in front of a Carolingian sword mounted on the wall, a long, golden, tapered blade with a fleur-de-lis inlay gleaming in an orange sunbeam.

“Honestly, Henri, I have no idea,” Kasumi said, stretching her legs, “He’s hoarded quite a few famous swords here.”

“Kukuku, Fortier, your eyes don’t fail you. Would you like to lay your hands on the sword of the ancient King of North Blue?” Mihawk asked.

“It’s been missing for 400 years…” Henri stammered, briefly noticing Kasumi’s cutlass among the treasures on display.

Mihawk leapt gracefully to the wall to retrieve the blade and offered it, along with a crooked smile, to the astonished man.

 _“I told you to leave us alone,”_ she glared at Mihawk.

“I believe I have… the right to entertain my guest,” he countered, “especially one who has the capacity to appreciate fine swords…”

Oblivious to their argument, Henri wielded the blade reverently in front of him, slowly heaving it in front of his body. “How… how in God’s name did you get this?”

“It was relinquished to me by an opponent… who perished while foolishly clinging to his North Blue technique despite its… obvious deficiencies. He was a weaselly, spoiled boy… who had no business testing his fate on the Grand Line…” He searched his memory: **“** Philippe? Paul? Croix de Noix?”

“Pierre-Philippe de Croutinnée…” Henri mumbled, “The sniveling son of my father’s enemy… To know that **he** got his bedeviled hands on Joyeuse…” he whispered, rotating it in the sunlight. “…Though, I suppose it’s better to be in the hands of a collector than to be swung around like a butterfly net…” He passed the sword back to Mihawk and—after a pause—turned to face the princess.  

“Kasumi-chan, it appears your host has a fine appreciation of blades. Hm! Let’s see what the Norishige has taught you.” He offered her a quick bow and stood with his sabre _en garde._

Kasumi returned the gesture and held the claymore in front of her, circling her old sensei.

The world’s top swordsman stood and watched the lesson for a while before strolling off to the kitchen to prepare lunch for three. The rabbit was costing too much in supplies: food, water, firewood, wine, garden vegetables… not to mention the food she gave to the humandrills! Of course, _his_ financial burden was negligible, but the fact that resources were limited on the island was always on his mind. What a naive girl—so out of touch with the world!

With limited resources in mind, he prepped vegetables and fish and dumped a few handfuls of noodles into a pot. Once the soup had begun to boil, he went to check on the princess’ lesson.

Henri was drilling her with a series of predictable attacks, allowing her time to block each strike as he advanced across the floor. Kasumi smirked and then lunged with her arms extended, propelling herself again with her back foot as soon as she landed.

“Ah, _c’est bien,_ but you’re fighting too close, dear. Your opponent may find a chance for this!” he flicked his sword up and tapped her twice on the belly. “Your new weapon is strong, but it’s slow. Back off, and use your head.” 

Mihawk rolled his eyes. Pats on the belly? A solid thump on the skull would do her more good! It was clear that the rabbit had learned everything from the goofy-looking man; he hopped around her in a predictable circle, his attack targets as obvious as his accent.

The rabbit came at him with a false attack that he must’ve known was coming, yet he still seemed surprised. Mihawk watched as Fortier succumbed to her feints and parries without resistance, only occasionally countering with a reprise of his own. He allowed her to drive him to the wall with ease, and shamefully congratulated her on it. “Hime-sama, you’re much stronger! Nice work, my dear!” Mihawk could stand it no longer; he cleared his throat and announced that lunch would be ready soon.

“Euh, then I should be leaving,” Henri announced, “It seems you’re a fine teacher, Dracule. My concerns about her training with you must have been misplaced.”

“Nonsense, you stay and eat,” she protested, looking at Mihawk. _“Give him my portion.”_

“Of course; I’ve prepared lunch for three. You will stay, Fortier,” he said, turning his back before disappearing again down the hallway.

At the table, Henri ate heartily while Kasumi and Mihawk glared at each other. Finally, the Shichibukai broke the silence. “Fortier, why did you bring her here?”

“The princess asked me to bring her,” he replied, shoveling noodles into his mouth.

“And you knew she stood no chance against me. She stood no chance… against the common criminals of Water Seven…”

_“Stop it, Mihawk. He doesn’t concern you.”_

Henri bristled. “Well, to be quite fair, we weren’t certain this island was occupied. Besides, her full abilities will awaken soon. She’ll be nigh unstoppable, hoh-hoh!”

"Ah, is her power so rare that it’s only awakened by coddling and not actual combat? You’re holding back on her.”

Henri swallowed and chose his words carefully as he picked at another bite of food. “The princess has suffered enough for one lifetime. Her… gift will awaken in time, without the need for dangerous combat. She’s my treasure.”

“Ay, it seems that’s the loose hem of the entire garment! Or, you’re afraid to awaken her anger.”

Kasumi stared incredulously. “I’m _right here_ , you two. And I have the right to decide how I train. You said I make my own decisions now, right, Riri? I’m 18,” she laughed nervously. “I’m free to abandon either of you as I please, am I not?”

“I suppose,” Henri mused.

“At any time, your highness,” Mihawk snarked.

“Let’s not argue, then!” she suggested, “The two of you have more in common than you know! Henri, do you remember a woman named—”

“Shikkearu,” Mihawk cut her off, “that’s not necessary.”

“Oh, Henri won’t tell! Henri, do you remember Shakky? She’s Mihawk’s mom!”

Henri tossed his chin toward the ceiling and shook the kitchen with his guffaw. “Shakuyaku, eh? A lovely woman! No wonder you have such a fine wine collection! Now don’t worry about your secret with me! Why, everyone in the cargo business knows how to hold confidential information, hoh-hoh!”

He paused to finish his glass and eyed Mihawk across the table. “I’ll offer you this, Taka no Me, keep my ward safe and sound while she trains here a while, and I can import anything you’d like—wine, ships, swords, exotic fruits—just tell me what you’d like and it’s yours.”

Mihawk mulled over the offer. “Bah… there’s nothing I long for desperately enough that I’d allow someone else to choose it for me… But, if you believe you can awaken the girl’s talent… so that she’ll leave me in peace, then please do continue to visit regularly…"

Without explanation, Mihawk disappeared into the hallway.

“Hime-sama, do you really want to live here?” Henri whispered across the table.

 _“It’s not a barn,”_ she countered, grabbing his hand. _“It’s my birthright. Besides, I’m getting stronger; you said so yourself.”_ She squeezed his fingers. _Hime-sama, you’re stronger than ever._

“Hime-sama, you’re stronger than ever… But this man is—”

Mihawk sprang around the corner with a small bundle covered by a purple cloth. “I came across this recently but have no personal need for it. Fortier, do you know what this is?”

Henri unwrapped the chunk of seastone and sucked in his breath. “I’ve never seen it before in real life…”

“Then take it.”

“There’s enough here to protect the sailboat I came over on! Kasumi-chan, I can visit you more safely now… and more often! Taka no Me, where did you… I can’t pay for this.”

“Wahahaha!” he laughed, throwing back his head, “Money is not an issue, Fortier-sensei. Just, eh, continue to tend to the rabbit as you see fit… to ensure her training is completed as quickly as possible.” He surprised himself by admitting her nickname in front of his visitor.

 _“Just take it, Henri,”_ she told him, _“Sometimes he’s nice for some reason. It’s not all that bad here, you know.”_

He tucked the stone into his coat and thanked Mihawk profusely, suddenly reminded that this strange, unpredictable young man was a Shichibukai who held more power and prestige than he could even imagine! Sure, he was a bit harsh on Kasumi, but she seemed to be doing well, and she’d certainly grown stronger. This arrangement may be workable.

Kasumi carried the empty bowls to the sink while Henri muttered about needing to return to Water Seven before it got too dark.

"What should I tell the boys about the seastone?”

“Eh, tell them you found it washed upon the shore…” Mihawk suggested.

Henri smiled and hitched up his pants. “Petite, walk me to my boat, eh? Dracule-san, my offer still stands. Call on the princess’ den den mushi if you think of anything you’d like.”

Kasumi latched onto Henri’s elbow and directed him to the door. It was time to get him out of here; she certainly didn’t want them getting _too_ friendly with each other! Mihawk hadn’t even known about the den den mushi! And Henri offered it to him like it was nothing! What’s next, her toothbrush? Wasn’t she allowed to have anything of her own?

“Eh, petite?” he nodded toward his forearm, where her fingernails were threatening to penetrate his coat in her death-grip.

“Oh! Right! Let me see you off.” She walked him to the dock and kissed his cheeks. “Henri, thank you. Please stay safe.”

Patting her shoulder, he told her that he’d be back by the first week of next month. “Keep up your training, chérie.”

She waved as he disappeared into the distance and then entered the kitchen to see Mihawk at the sink.

“That man is holding back on you,” he said dryly. “If you’d been worked harder, you would already be on your own.”

“Henri loves me!” she countered, “And you have no idea how hard I’ve trained! Not everyone beats their sparring partners to a bloody pulp!”

His lip twitched slightly before he began to speak. “Shikkearu, your Fortier may seem to you to be a… competent fighter… but the coddling he’s given you has… delayed your growth.” He poured himself a post-lunch glass of wine and gestured at her with the bottle.

She snatched it away and filled her own glass. “Henri’s like a father to me! Of course he spoils me a little! Besides, I’m a princess and he’s my servant!”

“Well, which is it then? Is he your guardian or your retainer?” he asked as he turned into the hallway.

“He’s both!” She trotted after him as he made his way to the parlor, glass still in hand, for his nap.

He settled into a long chaise and stretched out his lanky legs. His eyes closed while he inhaled before questioning her further. “I heard your conversation in the kitchen. Why did you… deny that your weapon was broken? He should know how ill-prepared you were... He should know… that I’m trying to fix you.”

Kasumi stood in the doorway, hand on her hip, unsure if Mihawk was being thoughtful or sarcastic. Why was she expected—by both men—to be such a passive character in her own training?! “You don’t know what—“

“And frankly… you each seem eager to be rid of the other.”

Tears began to flood her eyes. “Well, it’s not like I’m going to break his heart and tell him that my flail was destroyed and his training is old-fashioned and I’m happy to live here without him! He loves me! I love him!”

“He’s pampered you because you terrify him, and you spare his feelings because he took you in, is that it?”

 **“I DON’T TERRIFY HIM!!!”** she screeched, “And what are you, a psychologist? Mind your own business and stick to swords, asshole.”

Mihawk huffed. “As I recall, your shoddy swordsmanship is the topic at hand…”

Kasumi stomped up the staircase as Mihawk grunted and rolled onto his side for his delayed nap. Talking to the rabbit was quite simply exhausting. He was only trying to provide her a bit of insight on Henri’s faulty training methods. Perhaps her evening training would allow her some time for reflection.

The slamming of a bedroom door reverberated through the castle. Kasumi downed the remainder of her glass of wine and threw herself on the bed for a nice, angry crying session. Why was Mihawk trying to pick her apart? Why couldn’t he just be kind once in a while? Why did he have to poke his pointy nose into everything?

She wiped her face on her sleeve and sat up. She was tough. She could do this. All she needed to do was become physically stronger and quicker with her sword, and _somehow_ develop her telepathy more fully. Until then, she’d train even harder. Three, four times a day! And she’d need to practice on more opponents. Someone stronger than Henri, but weaker than Mihawk…

Her blurry vision settled onto the package from Odette. Thick brown paper contained a soft bundle tied up with a length of satin ribbon. A note tucked under the ribbon read: “To Kasumi-chan: I hope you remember to practice more than just fighting.” A few skeins of yarn, knitting needles, and a rainbow of embroidery floss tumbled into her lap.

“Well, thanks a lot,” she grumbled, “This stuff isn’t going to help me at all.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * bien, ça marche: French for “good, that works”
> 
> * pas de chance: French, literally “not a chance;” “no way”
> 
> * putain de bordel de merde: French, “holy fucking shit”
> 
> \----  
> Links for swords nerds :)
> 
> Destreza: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Destreza
> 
> Tizona: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tizona
> 
> Ishikiri: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Masamune#Kanemitsu
> 
> Joyeuse: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joyeuse
> 
> \---  
> This chapter's tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181220532031/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-18
> 
> This chapter's wine post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181220565936/henris-home-vineyards-are-pinot-noir-theres


	19. Stairs

Kasumi absentmindedly sorted the thread and yarn into color palettes while she thought over her new goals: Get stronger. Set out on her own and make a name for herself. Wait on someone else to kill Mihawk, or raise her own army to take him out. Once she had the island back, she would restore her family’s reputation and take her rightful place in the rebuilt southeastern castle!

Mihawk was just an obstacle along the road. Such a stubborn and ill-mannered obstacle, too! Sure, he’d taken her in, and had taught her new techniques, and had given her a sword, but he’d also tried to kill her! She was nowhere near as cruel as him! Furthermore, he was always finding new ways to get on her nerves. Ugh, why did she even let it bother her? He was a jerk—plain and simple! If, in some other universe, they weren’t competing for the castle, they might’ve been friends, but the battle for Kuraigana had forced them into a rivalry that seemed to bring each of their contentious natures into the spotlight.

And **why** was he always pretending to be so sincere? And why did he have to be so damned handsome?!

Shaking the final thought from her head, she gathered the knitting supplies and brought them downstairs to the great room before hopping outside for a quick check on the garden beds. As soon as she’d opened the door, a nasty, bitter breeze stung her bare arms. It seemed that Henri’s gift of flannel might actually be useful! The yarn from Odette as well, perhaps! She never needed cold-weather clothing on Water Seven, and the thought of something covering her arms and neck seemed dreadful. But still, memories of the icy swamp came crackling into her mind, and the thought of wearing Hiroshi’s or, god forbid, Mihawk’s, clothing was just too much. She’d have to add knitting and sewing to her daily chores… 

Mihawk was still asleep; she’d seen him stretched out in an armchair with two ottomans under his legs in front of the library fireplace. Her day had been more exhausting than his, and she was already quite hungry, so she started in on making stew using the potatoes she’d bought herself. Each snap of the knife as it cleaved through the flesh and against the cutting board brought her spirits higher. Yes! She could do this! Yes! She was (nearly) making it on her own! Yes! She was stronger than ever! Yes! She was a master swordfighter! Yes! She could probably take on an Admiral!

The scent of garlic awakened the castle’s only resident master swordfighter, and he smacked his lips in the dying firelight of the library. Was it dinnertime already? Once the rabbit had stormed off, he’d had a few moments to consider how to reword his argument to the princess. Surely she couldn’t be so daft as to be completely ignorant of Fortier’s motivation!

He closed up the fireplace and stumbled into the kitchen where he made himself useful stirring, seasoning, and dishing out the stew before disappearing outside to retrieve the evening newspapers.

Once they’d both settled at the table, mouths occupied with dinner, the silence between them had a credible excuse while he read and she worked at a crossword puzzle. Each seemed reluctant to address what had passed between them earlier; the tinkling of bowls and the rustling of paper were the only sounds that gave the kitchen life at all. He folded up the politics section of the _South Blue Weekly Observer_ and snapped open the _Sandy Island Informer._ He paused a moment with his face hidden before asking the question that was still on his mind: “Just how much… or what kind… of a threat do you pose to Fortier?”

Kasumi popped a gasp of air through her throat. “Again with this?! None at all!” she blurted, “Henri knows I’d never hurt him. I couldn’t even if I tried!” 

He readjusted the paper once for emphasis. “Psh, then why wouldn’t he want you to be as strong as possible?”

Rolling her eyes, she tried to set him straight. “Look, I told you. Henri’s not holding back on me. And he’s not afraid of me. He’s just more patient than you! Besides, he’s been the sensei to all my siblings—”

“—and when they were your age, were they as weak as you are now?” he demanded.

 _“You’re being rude!”_ she informed him, “He’s taught me as well as he taught any of them! And he knows me better than you do. I’m tired of having this argument. Why does it even matter?”

Mihawk’s voice flashed with anger. “Rabbit,” he growled, “I’m not… _attempting_ to _upset_ you. It seems that you, as usual, haven’t given any reflection to the matter at hand.” The Shichibukai inhaled deeply before the thoughts he’d had just prior to his nap began to rush from his mouth. “The man knows you have no aversion to… physical anguish. He knows well your quick temper and the power that seems to accompany it. I believe he knows **damn** well the training method by which to strengthen your family’s specific talent… How could he not? Yet, he says himself that his goal is its control and containment… That man has put a bridle on you.”

“Ah—“

Still hiding behind his paper shield, he summed up the situation as he saw it. “Hime-kun, either he’s cosseting you and is negligent, or he’s terrified of you and is a coward.”

Kasumi consciously relaxed her jaw and closed her eyes for a few seconds. “Even if you’re right—and you aren’t—what could I do about it now? He raised me! I owe him my life! You want me to tell him take his advice and throw it in the Calm Belt?”

“No… Shikkearu… But I believe… you can achieve… sufficiency if you change your training methods.” He lowered the paper and tilted his head to the right. “And ignore that—very kind, I’m sure—Fortier. Cotton to him as he has to you. That’s all.”

“And what? Listen to you?”

“Whom else would you listen to?”

The sincerity on his face made her laugh without her permission. “Then why did you tell him to visit regularly?”

“Ah, it seems he pleases you; you please him. He brings you goods. My mother trusts him. He seems like a… good-humored man. He should have every confidence that his liege is not wasting away in some lecher’s dungeon.” 

Taken aback by his honesty, she searched for the appropriate reply. “Well! I wish you were as nice and understanding to me as you are to him!”

“You’re alive. Warm, safe, and eating my potatoes at this very moment, rabbit. Can you not agree to consider my advice in the spirit in which it is given?”

She stood and went to rinse her bowl at the sink, straining desperately against her instinct to pop off another sarcastic response. Finally, she shut the tap, grabbed a towel, and muttered, “And what advice is that?”

“Toughen up. You’re a princess in name only. Don’t let Fortier’s… genteel training methods… determine your ultimate output. I can fix you. Some of you, at least…” He stood and pushed in his chair, adding, “Then when you come for my castle, we can both be assured that you gave it your best try, eh?”

Kasumi threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin to meet his eyes. “And then I’ll take it fair and square.”

“Kukuku, little rabbit! Keep that fire to serve you well!” He turned and placed his bowl in the sink before striding down the wine cellar staircase, mumbling, “like the mugwort of Mt. Ibuki…” *****

After dinner, Kasumi put her new supplies to work. Choosing the softest and thickest yarn, she began knitting herself a pair of socks to wear to bed. Her fingers flicked and pulled the needles with precision, creating a phalanx of uniform stitches that slowly formed a sock. Once she’d finished the first one, she wove a little ribbon through the cuff and held it up for inspection.      

“Shikkearu,” he interrupted from the opposite side of the fireplace, “those soft slippers may have been usable in Henri’s barn, but I’m afraid they’re not suitable for these marble floors. You’ll break your neck.”

She dropped her work into her lap. “You don’t need to worry about it. They’re just for sleeping. Besides, they’re pretty… I can knit you some,” she teased.

Resettling his newspaper in front of his face, he muttered, “Eh, I don’t want any death-slippers.”

Kasumi snorted. “Says the man who,” she tried out a deep, flat Mihawk-like voice, “TAKES ON ALL CHALLENGERS ON THE GRAND LINE!”

“So?”

“So, you’re scared of booties?”

“They’re an unnecessary risk.”

The princess stood and peered over the newspaper to gauge his expression. A pair of crimson eyes gradually rose to meet hers.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to know if you were serious. You don’t see why it’s funny to me?”

Mihawk smirked and brought his glass to his lips. “Hime-kun, those objects that seem to be the most… innocuous may indeed pose a grave danger. There’s no humor in that. Irony, maybe…”

“You. Always. Take. Everything. So. Seriously!” she laughed, swatting at his face with the sock. “I can make you a scarf. Would that be alright? Or would it be a potential ‘grave danger?’”

After briefly considering the numerous manners in which a scarf could become a lethal implement, he offered a crooked smile and agreed to be measured for one, only to be worn during extreme weather circumstances, of course.

\----

That night, Kasumi woke a few hours before dawn with a biting pain in her nose and a shiver in her chest. The room was silent and sharply cold; the fireplace was dark. She’d used the last of her firewood before heading to bed, assuming that it would be enough to keep her warm throughout the night.

Dammit, she should have taken the time to bring another load upstairs before bedtime! Venturing outside at this hour would make too much noise—not to mention that it was chilly and wet. Even with the blanket tucked over her head, her fingertips began to sting and her ears felt numb. She tried to tough it out … _Henri has been cosseting you…_ but it soon became unbearable. Surely she could borrow some firewood from him for a few hours until morning.

Braving the cold, she flung off the covers and entered the frigid hallway in her pajamas, then walked confidently until she reached his door. Mihawk’s eyes shot open inside his duvet cocoon. What was she up to at this hour?

Kasumi stood outside his door and began to reconsider her plan; what if he struck her down as soon as she turned the handle? Why did he always have to be so unpredictable?!

 _“Taka no Me?”_ she asked silently. There was no reply.

Jumping back as if pulled by a string, she reconsidered. What was she thinking?! If she bothered him at this hour—and he didn’t attack her like a wild animal—he’d at least make fun of her. She could hear him now… “Oh the little rabbit got cold? Where’s your fur? Shouldn’t you have grown a winter coat by now? You think you can leech off me?” _Henri’s been cosseting you…or he’s terrified of you…_

She turned and headed toward the stairway. The solution was simple. She needed firewood. Firewood was outside. She should just go outside and get it! Carefully descending the chilly marble stairs in her socks, she resolved to do more on her own from now on.  

Standing at the back door of the kitchen, she was disheartened to see that a tantrum of a cold rainstorm had blown in. She straightened her back, breathed in deeply, and slid on her old boots that were resting beside the door. At least she’d have a chance to test out her new coat, she supposed.

The earth was soggy and slippery, and the rain came at her in tiny shards that stung against her face. A deep puddle swallowed her boot and soaked straight through to her knitted socks. After making her way to the wood shed, she filled her arms with logs and then covered the bundle under her coat. She trudged back to the castle with her head down and heaved open the kitchen door.

“Little rabbit, what are you doing?” Mihawk was standing there in his pajamas, looking at her as if she’d just decided to take a mid-night walk in the rain for no reason at all.

“Um… what’s it look like?” she replied as she latched the door shut, “I’m out of firewood. It’s cold.”

“Must you always choose the most difficult path for yourself?” he chided, “There’s firewood throughout the castle. You could have borrowed some from me—”

“GodDAMMIT!” Kasumi roared, shoving him in the shoulder with her free hand, “You know, the only reason I went outside was to avoid you! ‘Shikkearu…’” she mocked his monotone voice, “‘Is the rabbit cold? Don’t try to steal my firewood. Shikkearu, you should have prepared better.’ No matter what I do, you try to make me feel like a fool! Well, I needed firewood, so I got some! You can just go back to bed.” She kicked off her sopping boots and hung up her coat while he stood and watched her with one eyebrow raised.

“...Eh, in all fairness, you _should_ have prepared better…”

“I don’t need you to remind me of that,” she growled, “Now I’m going back to my room to warm up.” She stomped toward the staircase, her soggy socks flopping on the stone floor with each step. Balancing the firewood in one arm, she hopped on one foot to remove them and tossed them onto the pile. Mihawk zipped by her and appeared at the crest of the second-floor landing, seeming to have scaled the distance in one leap.

“Show off,” she muttered.

“There’s nothing preventing you from doing likewise.”

“Oh, except that I can’t jump up entire staircases. You don’t have to remind me of all the ways you’re stronger than me, you know.”

He darted down to meet her midway on the staircase and grabbed the bundle of logs from her arms. “It could be that you’ve never tried. How many can you scale?”

Kasumi groaned. “Oh, four or five, maybe… but I’d rather go back to my room and—”

“Show me then, hopping rabbit. Show me your four or five.”

She lowered her chin and looked up at him. “Right now? Okay, move.” Within three leaps, she’d reached the top of the staircase. “See?”

“You simply aren’t trying hard enough. You’re aiming at the fourth or fifth step. Aim at the top.” He turned and buzzed up the next flight and stared down at her from the third floor. “Aim here.”

She grit her teeth and locked on to her target. _Henri’s been cosseting you…_ Pushing off as strongly as she could, she launched herself toward him and briefly flew before nearly falling backward. Once she’d gathered herself, she leapt three times in succession, which put her only a handful of steps away from the landing.

“The rabbit’s become a hare!” he laughed.

Pressing through her nearly-numb bare feet, she sprung toward him with vicious determination and landed awkwardly near the top, her heel not quite gaining purchase as she threw out her arms. Falling from the top of the stairs is a cheap death, she thought, I shouldn’t have let him goad me into this.

A solid hand grasped her arm around the bicep, digging a thumb into the spot where he’d pierced her with the bokken. She was flung to the top of the staircase and landed one-footed with a little skip.

“Thanks,” she muttered, taking the bundle out of his arms. “I guess I need to practice a bit more…”

“It appears so,” he stated plainly before turning and walking back toward his door. “Oh… by the way. Don’t practice on the stairs in your death-slippers.”

Kasumi rolled her eyes and headed back to her room, where she napped in front of the fireplace a few more hours until sunrise.

\----

The next afternoon, he stopped her in the hallway on his way to his post-lunch nap. “Eh… Shikkearu, my firewood, food, and water are disappearing twice as quickly as they used to… If, eh, you insist on staying the winter, then you’ll sleep in my room and—”

Kasumi felt her heart rise into her throat. “Oh, no, uh, I,” she sputtered, “I’ll try to use less of everything. I can repay you for the food…”

“Iya, using twice the resources is wasteful… You can have a futon in my room near the fireplace and begin taking your baths before me as well. As for the food… I don’t want your money. But you need to be prepared to go fetch supplies twice as often.”

She considered the proposal. “Well, do you even have a futon?”

He waved his hand as if he were shooing a fly. “Avail yourself of the closets on the second floor. I’m sure you’ll find something.”

After a brief search, she located one rolled up in a closet full of extra bedding, along with a mat and a comforter. Failing to find a futon stick, she lay out the mat on his bedroom floor and took the futon downstairs to beat it out with a shinai.                                                        

The dust exploded from the futon with every strike as she began to reflect on her situation. She was getting stronger. WHAP. But she was still too weak. WHAP. No money of her own. WHAP. No way to support herself. WHAP. And Mihawk always antagonizing her. WHAP. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She should be much stronger by now. _That man has put a bridle on you…_

“Hime-kun,” a voice called from the doorway, “you only need to beat the dust out of it, not send it to its ancestors.”

“Oh, be quiet!” she scoffed, although she did secretly think his joke was funny—his humor landed about as often as her strikes with the Norishige did.

“Are you ready for your mid-afternoon training? To fight someone who can fight you back?” he curled up one side of his lips into a smile. He picked up an _estoc_ from a pile of swords and challenged her without warning.

Kasumi’s eyes lit up as she welcomed the familiar dance they’d established as of late. Their spars had become smoother during the past week; the conversation between their blades was more intense, but much less chaotic than it had been in their first fights. He’d find a tempo that seemed to be just outside her ability level, and hold it until she could manage a few clean strikes, before changing his rhythm again. He didn’t want to spoil her with too much success.

Once training was over and she’d worked herself nearly to the point of exhaustion, she rested on the sofa while Mihawk warmed up the pot of stew. He chose to open Henri’s wine, though his expectations were quite low.

The taste nearly brought tears to her eyes. Odette’s kitchen, the futon on the barn floor, the smell of straw, the sound of Henri’s laugh when he’d finished a few bottles himself… it was an almost-bitter and savory flavor that seemed to stimulate all of her senses at once!

“Is this typical of what Fortier produces?”

“Mm, yes.” she said, relishing the familiar taste in place of Mihawk’s usual strange wines.

“It’s bland…” he droned.

“That’s just because you’re a snob. It’s a good table wine… it goes well with the stew.”

“It’s sincere,” he offered.

They retired to the great room where a fire soon roared, as he opened a bottle of _X_ _inomavro_ along with his newspapers. She snatched the sections away from him as he finished each one.

“Meteor shower next week…” she read aloud. “We always watched the first winter meteor shower from Henri’s rooftop. It’s good luck.”

“That’s not visible from here, hime-kun. The clouds of Kuraigana Island are too dense.”

Kasumi grimaced. “I suppose I’ve been gone a while…” She grabbed the next section of the newspaper from him and lingered on the outside of his hand just a little too long without realizing it.

“Um, Mihawk?”

He grunted.

“What was your training like? What were you doing at my age? How did you get to be… where you are?”

Mihawk sighed and tried to tell his story succinctly. He’d been raised to be the strongest, and so he was. He’d trained with several teachers in various styles. And when he was 19, he took the title from the man who held it before him. The next year, he was offered a position as a Shichibukai. And he continued to be the strongest, no matter where he went. And someday he would have a good death as the strongest, when he was overtaken.

Kasumi groaned, “You’re not a very good storyteller…”

“What is it that you want to know?” he asked with an innocent expression that caught her off guard.

“It’s my turn to be curious. Where did you go? Who taught you? What kind of things have you seen? Who’s the strongest person you’ve fought?”

“Ehhhhh,” he sighed, switching the cross of his legs, “I’ve been all over. I’ve had a series of sensei—none of whose names you’d recognize. I’ve seen enough that nothing surprises me anymore... And the strongest person I’ve fought is an old friend.”

“Well…” she looked at her hands, “you make it sound so simple. You had it easy.” She set her glass on the table and twisted her hips to face him. “It kind of sounds like you didn’t have much choice in the matter… You’re lucky. If I’d known my purpose in life as early as you, I wouldn’t be stuck here.” She smirked and nudged him with her elbow. “I’d have defeated you my first night.”

“That seems… unlikely, princess.”

Picking at her cuticles, she mused, “But still… to have been raised with a singular purpose, like a race horse… it’s kind of sad…” Upon seeing his eyes briefly open into that cold, faraway stare, she added, “Didn’t you have any other interests? If you hadn’t been raised how you were?”

He turned to look her in the eyes. “Shikkearu, there’s no point in… hypothesizing what might have been if I’d been born in a different time. I’m fortunate enough to live in the greatest pirate age this world has ever seen. I was born in a martial era, a time that befits my skills and station. This is the best possible timeline for me.” After taking a long drink of wine, he added, “For you… I’m not so sure.”

“Humph!” she bickered, “You’re probably right. You would have been a failure as an artist or a doctor, or a man of words. At least I had options!”

“Kukuku, humandrill princess,” he laughed, “you’re free to test out your options at any time you please.”

“You don’t seriously believe you can get rid of me that easily, do you? I’m staying here until you’re killed or I’m strong enough to kick you out.” She looked up at him and noticed the fire reflecting in his crimson eyes.

“Is that so?” he asked. “Well, it won’t be tonight. Are you ready for bed?”

She led him upstairs and crawled into her new bed, having made a privacy screen with some of the dusty furniture in his bedroom, and listened until he began to snore. It was the best night’s sleep she’d had since she left the barn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *  
> Mihawk is referencing a waka poem from the Ogura Hyakunin Isshu (小倉百人一首), a collection of 100 poems from 100 poets of Japan, compiled around 1237.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ogura_Hyakunin_Isshu 
> 
> The poem was written by Fujiwara no Sanekata, who lived during the mid-Heian period of Japan.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fujiwara_no_Sanekata  
> https://ja.wikipedia.org/wiki/藤原実方 
> 
> www.wakapoetry.net/gsis-xi-612/ 
> 
> http://jti.lib.virginia.edu/etcbin/ot2www-japanese?specfile=/web/data/japanese/search/japanese.o2w&act=text&lang=en&offset=297311&textreg=0&query=Ibuki
> 
> This particular poem is #51.
> 
> かくとだに  
> えやはいぶきの  
> さしも草  
> さしも知らじな  
> 燃ゆる思ひを
> 
> hey bby wan sum romaji?
> 
> Kaku to dani  
> e ya wa ibuki no  
> sashi-mogusa  
> sashimo shiraji na  
> moyuru omoi wo
> 
> The poem has a lot of wordplay and puns that don’t translate well to English, so it can be read several ways, but my simple, straightforward amateur translation might be:
> 
> How could I tell  
> Of the burning scratches  
> You know nothing about?  
> Like the mugwort of Mt. Ibuki  
> Burns the skin.
> 
> A more romantic reading is the 1909 William Porter translation: http://www.sacred-texts.com/shi/hvj/hvj052.htm (public domain) 
> 
> THOUGH love, like blisters made from leaves  
> Grown on Mount Ibuki,  
> Torments me more than I can say,  
> My lady shall not see,  
> How she is paining me.
> 
> Wikipedia offers an even more suggestive translation:  
> Can I let you know  
> what consumes me?  
> Unknown to you,  
> my heart blazes  
> like red hot moxa  
> aflame with love  
> for you.
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fujiwara_no_Sanekata#poetry 
> 
> Mugwort (moxa) can be used in moxibustion (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moxibustion) as a traditional treatment that involves burning dried moxa on the patient's skin.
> 
> For our purposes, Mihawk was just reminded of the fiery mugwort mentioned in the poem, and NOT AT ALL letting his feelings for Kasumi slip out. Of course not. He would never do such a thing. Hmph. フン ! Perish the thought!  
> \----
> 
> Read more about the Hyakunin Isshu in this chapter's tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181294707823/through-the-fog-part-1-by-waskonedo-chapter-19  
> Read more about Xinomavro in this chapter's "Mihawk's Wine Selections" tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181295605221/in-chapter-19-mihawk-refreshes-his-palate-after


	20. ゴオォォォ vs. オォォォォ

Kasumi awoke in the morning, warm and content next to the fireplace. Mihawk was opening and closing drawers as he gathered up a pile of clothes before he headed to dress in the washroom. She feigned sleep as he walked past, then snuck off to get dressed in her own room. Once she’d heard him enter the stairwell, she washed and then met him in the kitchen.

“Did you find your new castle satisfactory?” he droned, as he opened a package of dried _wakame._

She scoffed. “Your bedroom is hardly a castle. You don’t even—”

“Eh, I’m not referring to the bedroom. I’m referring to your… nest you’ve constructed from my furniture.”

“A girl deserves privacy!” she argued, gesturing at him with a spoon, “And besides! …Yes, yes I did have a nice night, I guess… I don’t like tall beds. ‘A soft bed makes a soft back!’” She squinted at him. “Isn’t that right, tough guy?”

“Eh, sleep is sleep, princess,” he replied. “If you truly intend to set out on your own, you’ll find sleep wherever you can.”

Kasumi rolled her eyes, but the matter was settled. By the second and third nights sleeping in his room, she was satisfied that his intentions in asking her to change bedrooms were genuinely a matter of conserving resources; he hadn't made a move in any other direction. She swept away any lingering thoughts of what might have been and resolved to focus on her training.

His bathroom received a thorough scrub, and she began taking her baths while he napped after her afternoon training. Over the next couple of days, their practice became more intense as she pushed against him with her full force of will, and he finally admitted that she was “approaching basic sufficiency.”

After a pleasant evening together, they changed into pajamas and were about to settle into their beds when he abruptly announced, “Shikkearu, I’ll be leaving tomorrow for a short while.”

She stood up and placed a hand on her hip. “Already? You just went! You need to visit that ramen shop again?”

Peering over her furniture fort, he chided, “Hime-kun, that was nearly two weeks ago. I didn’t achieve my title through sparring with princesses...”

“Hm!” she half-laughed, “What are you going to do?”

Mihawk’s smirk was replaced by an expression of dramatic sincerity. “Eh, who knows? At any moment, my ideal opponent could be sailing through the Grand Line. A spectacular fight should never be allowed to escape my horizon...”

“Oh… mm, okay…” she mumbled, annoyed with his pretention, “Well, do you think that maybe—sometime—you might—” she clenched her toes inside her slippers, “ _maybe… you could take me with you?”_

“No.”

She reached over and placed a hand casually on his elbow… _I’ll take her with me._

Swatting her hand away with a flick, he snarled “Bzzz, little bee! Whatever you’re attempting to tell me isn’t coming through...”

Kasumi’s cheeks reddened. “Well, but why not? It would help me train and I could learn to sail… I can fight!”

He tilted his head slightly. “I’m not in the business of ferrying tourists, my dear… And it’s quite unbecoming of you…” he continued, biting his lip, “to try to buzz me into changing my mind. You want something? Then speak to me.”  

 _“I’m sorry._ Oh, I mean…” she added, quickly changing to her audible voice, “I mean, I’m sorry. I’ve just never been anywhere, that’s all.”  

“Days at sea alone with me is far from a pleasure cruise, hime-kun.”

“Well, I’ve never been on one of those, either,” she pouted. “Takaaa no Me, would you consider it? In time? I won’t be any trouble…” She imagined the two of them sailing on the open sea, maybe even having some time to really talk and get to know one another; he might even take her to the ramen shop or introduce her to the other Shichibukai!

“Eh,” he huffed through his nose, “I thought you were determined to set off on your own. Now you want to spend your free time in my company?”

“Just—just never mind! You always make everything into something bigger than it is. I just want to fight and see other islands, that’s all…”  She lay down and turned away from him as she pulled the covers to her neck.

Undeterred, he peered over the furniture wall and pressed her further. “Hime-kun, you’re asking me to take you along for days on a boat no bigger than a bathtub… so that you can fight and sightsee, both of which would be a hindrance to me. Improve your skills and display a bit more self-control if you truly want me to consider it.”

“And then you’d take me?”

He let out a sigh before crawling into bed himself. “Perhaps.”

\----

Mihawk sailed off after breakfast the next day, following a slightly different route from his last journey. After only a few hours, he came across a small fleet of strangely-tattooed pirates who seemed to believe—once they’d realized who he was—that they were worth his time. Quickly disabling them, he helped himself to the flagship’s captain’s quarters, where he found a stash of bills and an interesting botany book. A flick of Yoru reduced the ship to planks, and he was on his way again, not at all pausing to consider the dozens of lives he’d ended.

When the sun had reached its peak, he opened his bag to find a _bento_ with a note tucked inside: _“For the race horse. Take me with you next time ♥”_ A smirk spread over his lips as he unfolded the napkin—such a stubborn humandrill-girl! He unpacked the box to find a decent meal, accented with two Yoru-shaped pickles.

A Marine ship passed him in the late afternoon, signaling a greeting as it lumbered across the sea. He could make out a few Marines on deck looking at him through telescopes, excitedly gesturing and pantomiming attacks with his great sword. Slowly, with almost-imperceptible movement, he turned his head until his eyes met the sailors’ and then activated his Haoshoku haki, instantly dropping a group of men to the deck. “Serves them right, the nosy buffoons,” he thought with a wry smile.

After a few hours of drowsy sailing, he stopped at a small but conspicuous lagoon with a flashing neon sign: BOOZE! FOOD! SHIP REPAIRS! Reasoning that he could use two-thirds of the advertised services, he docked at the pier and was greeted by a smiling older woman in a feathery leotard.

“What can I get ya?” she asked.

“The sign claims that this place sells food and drink…”

“That’s right! Just sit back and let us bring everything to ya! Ya never even hafta leave your boat!”

Mihawk’s cheek began to twitch. “And I’m to remain out here, under this buzzing, blinking sign? In that case—”

“No, no,” the woman cackled, “you can come inside if ya wanna! Dockside service is just for your convenience!”

He made his way down the dock and entered a large, mostly-empty restaurant festooned in tacky pirate paraphernalia. Finding the darkest corner in the place, he propped his feet onto a nearby chair and leaned back to read a newspaper that was lying nearby. A new bounty poster fell onto the table: a scabby-faced pirate named Snakescale was wanted for 5,000,000 beri after having fought his way out of jail in Alabasta. Mihawk solved the daily newspaper puzzles in his head while enjoying a quick dinner and then walked off to visit the supply shop.

After filling his arms with bottles of wine, he counted out the bills folded neatly in his pocket, then impulsively grabbed a package of “Bunny-Hops Sweet Cakes” from the countertop candy display and added it to his purchase. Having satisfied his cravings, he set sail again, drifting westward overnight with one eye open.

Once the sun was up, he shaved using the Kogatana, as he always did at sea. Maintaining his appearance was an important part of being a true swordsman, in case today—however unlikely—was the day he would die. One must always be prepared. It was a lesson he’d often heard repeated from his teachers, but hadn’t truly come to terms with until his time in Wano, when Suntetsu-sensei showed him the hard way. Being ready to die was the only way to truly live! Anyone who cowered at a challenge was unworthy of wielding a sword.     

Only a handful of people he’d known had truly lived up to the principle. Those who stared death in the face and welcomed it, trusting that their skills would either prove their worth or at least establish the limit of their potential in death.

And one of those people seemed to be nearby… Gradually, a vibration had pulled at his ribs all morning, pulsating—but not quite audible—nevertheless insistent and unable to be ignored. Something was sending out a signal. Could it be?

Honing in on the source of the frequency, he rapidly advanced westward until a haki tone sounded in his ears. When a small crew of wide-eyed pirates appeared in his peripheral vision, he sent several quick slashes across the surface of the water until their boat exploded. He had no desire to waste time fighting common fools; he had a noise to follow! Eyes focused in search of his target, he plowed forward through the sea, his tiny craft skidding along in the wake.

By evening, he’d located the source of the sound, absentmindedly trailing it much farther than he’d intended to go on this trip. A familiar ship bobbed in the harbor. Docking next to it, he quickly found a bar that was precisely the kind of place **that** man would choose. He set up at a small table in the back of the room and ordered grilled fish and a bottle of wine. They’d find him sooner or later.

As he waited for his meal, his recent advice to Kasumi rang fresh in his ears: Don’t be lazy… Never stop pushing yourself… Growth only occurs through struggle… Find your limit… And besides, he’d been feeling nostalgic about him lately.

A rowdy crew of pirates entered the bar soon enough and sat themselves at a long table in front of the bar. Their captain surveyed the restaurant and briefly locked eyes with Mihawk before cracking a warm smile. Considering Taka no Me’s usual disdain for loud and lively groups, he chose to keep secret the fact that he’d noticed his old rival from across the room. Shanks grinned and ordered a round of _sake_ for his crew, making sure the waitress knew to keep the booze flowing.  

After four or five quick drinks, he abruptly placed his hand on the shoulder of a ponytailed man carrying a long flintlock. “Oi, Benn—”  

“Yeah, I see him.” the man growled. “Off to play that old game, are you?”

Shanks patted Benn on the bicep. “I don’t think I have a choice!” he laughed. “Listen, everyone, I’ll be back tomorrow morning! Don’t drink the place dry, dahahahahaha!” he laughed, slipping the waitress a few extra bills.

As Shanks stood to leave, Mihawk exited through a back door. He waited in the alley until Shanks turned the corner, readying his greeting: “At such a time as the man who—”

“Taka no Me!” Shanks sang, slapping his old friend’s shoulder, “It’s been too long! Are you ready to join my crew now?”

“Of course not,” Mihawk scoffed, “I came to cross swords.”

“Well, well, well! That’s no way to greet an old friend! I thought our battle for the title was already over. After your father retired, you beat me fair and square, eventually! Dahaha! You want a rematch?”

“Rematch? Humph. That’s up to you. I only aim to see if you’ve strengthened and to discover what mischief you’re making out here.”

Shanks smiled warmly. “Ah, so it seems you’ve missed me then! Join my crew and we can spar together every day! You don’t want to be a government dog forever, do you?”

Mihawk pressed his lips together tightly before replying. “My current position allows me the freedom to do as I please… without requiring me to hound others into joining me...”

The pair walked in silence over a few hills until they reached a secluded spot where they could fight in peace; Shanks knew that his friend would speak more openly once their swords began to clash. He’d always been such a tough nut to crack! Out here, in the cool moonlit night among the rocks, it almost felt as if they were teenagers again. Back when Mihawk and Rayleigh’s arguments stifled the usually-happy mood on the Oro Jackson, it seemed like only a good fight could bring Taka no Me back to himself again.

Shanks’ joints cracked as he stretched his legs and shoulders. “You really want to do this now? And once I defeat you, you’ll join my crew?” He unsheathed his saber from his hip and wielded it in his left hand, taunting Mihawk with a quick flick of his wrist.

“There’s no possibility that our arrangement would end that way, Akagami. It’s more likely that you’ll hand over that sword.”

“Do you still have your eyes on it?” Shanks asked with a laugh, “Don’t you have enough swords by now?”

“Gryphon would be a fine acquisition for my collection, that’s all. But more pressingly, at this time, I’ve been lacking in competent opponents.” He raised Yoru above his head and a low whooshing noise began to fill the clearing.

The noise began to blend with another—a rumble that reached a climax right before Shanks took the first strike toward his old friend. Once the dance began, the two cracked the night air with a series of explosive blows.

Relieved that the situation was more familiar and comfortable, Mihawk offered a smile. “Tell me, Akagami, what brings you out here?”

“I’m looking for a few more crew members before I take a shot at it,” he replied.

“A shot at what?”

“The New World, of course! I have a dream to be as great as Whitebeard himself one day, dahahaha!”

Mihawk scoffed and ducked under a wild swing from the saber, returning the blow on the back side; a white light shot from the meeting point of their blades. The exchange grew more intense, but each blow was parried and countered, falling into an easy balance due to the two young men’s complementary styles.

After a few hours of sparring, cursing, and exchanging grins, Shanks decided to mention the topic he’d been mulling since they’d left the bar. His haki had sensed something different about his old friend, as if he were keeping something from him. “Taka no Me,” he huffed, squatting to rest his forearms on his thighs for a brief moment, “It seems like there’s something you’re not telling me…”

Mihawk wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Bah, if I had any knowledge that would benefit you, I’d have told you already, dear Akagami. The government’s actions are mercurial, and although there’s no doubt that the Marines will come for your head, I cannot forsee when or how.”

Shanks drove his saber toward Mihawk’s ribcage with a playful smile. “No, no, it’s not that, you weird old poet. It’s… if I didn’t know what a cold bastard you are, I’d say there’s something else on your mind…”

Mihawk swatted away the blade and growled, “That’s none of your concern!”

Grinning widely, Shanks announced, “So it _is_ a girl! Who is she?”

Mihawk advanced and began to back Shanks into a thicket as he mumbled, “…Eh, she’s training with me, nothing more. She has a historical interest in the island… She’ll leave soon.”

“Mm, okay,” Shanks relented, knowing well Mihawk’s awkwardness with women. Feeling a bit sorry for embarrassing him, he quickly changed the subject and fought his way out of the thicket. “How’s your father?”

“How would I know?” Mihawk deadpanned.

“That’s fair enough, I suppose. Any news from your neck of the woods?”

After thinking for a moment, Mihawk replied, “No, nothing that hasn’t been in the newspapers. You really should keep up with current events, Akagami.”

The sword conversation continued through the night until just before sunrise, when Mihawk finally landed a glancing blow on Shanks’ left shin. Seeing as how it had taken six hours for either of them to suffer an injury, Shanks pointed out that perhaps their spar should be postponed until next time.

They rested side-by-side on a pile of smooth rocks and watched as the sun began to peek over the horizon.

“I’ll see you again soon, friend,” Shanks offered, wrapping his arm around Mihawk’s shoulders.

“And we’ll continue this fight then as well… Akagami, how long do you plan to be milling about the shallows of the Grand Line? Why are you here?”

“I need a bigger crew. I have some great talents, but we’re not quite complete. I still need a sniper, a mechanic, a few more strong fighters. I’m thinking of upgrading my ship as well.”

“Hm,” Mihawk grunted thoughtfully, “Didn’t you also take that loud red-nose?”

“Dahaha! Buggy? No, he intends to continue on his own. Seems like all the young men from The Oro Jackson have gone their own ways. Are you taking this girl into your crew?”

“I don’t have a crew. I don’t want one,” Mihawk snapped.

“No one gets far on their own out here.”

“I’m not trying to get far,” he countered, “I’m trying to find one who can threaten my title. It’s tiresome battling only tadpoles and shad.” He flicked a gob of mud off his boot with his sword and added, “Eh, contact me when you near my island.”

“Will you introduce me to your girlfriend then? Naaaaa!”

Mihawk offered Shanks a disappointed frown and mumbled, “It’s doubtful that she’d still be there by that time. But, if you do venture across her on the sea someday…”

Throwing back his head in laughter, Shanks roared, “Oh, I’ll leave her alone! What did you say her name was?”

“Shikkearu. Shikkearu Kasumi. She’s got the Norishige. She’s… infuriatingly stubborn.”

The temptation to laugh was nibbling at him, but Shanks resisted and calmly asked, “So then, you like her?”

Mihawk’s jaw tightened. “There’s no chance. She’d rather see me dead and have the island to herself… And you know well that I could never, psh, act on such predilections.”

Shanks couldn’t stifle his laughter any longer. “Dahaha, why not?! You can do as you please! You just said so tonight! If you think she likes you, then give it a shot! Have you even tried?”

“I’ve,” he started as his ears began to burn, “been hospitable to her.”

“Does she like you?”

Mihawk’s voice became a mumble. “It varies hour by hour. But she seems… fond of me.”

“Then what are you doing here, Taka no Me?” Shanks laughed and flapped air into his shirt, “Go and find out! Read her a poem or something! Give her a candlelight dinner or a thoughtful gift! Tell her she’s beautiful!”

Wishing he could shrink away under his coat, Mihawk grunted in acceptance.

“You’ll figure it out. It’s not hard. Just do what seems right.” Shanks stood and dusted his palms. “Well, I suppose I should go. I wish you well until I see you again. You still have my vivre card, right?”

Mihawk nodded and turned to leave.  

“Oh, and next time? Stay and drink a while! You should meet my crew!” he beamed.

“Eh, maybe… who knows…”

\----

Mihawk spent the rest of the day catching up on his sleep as he sailed back toward Kuraigana Island. His nap was interrupted, little by little, by an obnoxious presence that seemed to be drawing near. Opening one eye, he saw a garish boat with a large coiled snake figurehead on the prow. After using his keen vision to quickly assess the crew, he decided to make some quick money. Within seconds, he was standing on the snake’s head.

“Announce yourself,” he commanded.

“Why, you son of a bitch!” the captain snarled, “I’m Snakescale, and these here are the Rattler Pirates! You’re going to regret setting foot on my ship!”

Mihawk sighed and swung Yoru horizontally, shooting a green bolt that took down every man except his target. “You were saying?”

Snakescale’s eyes bulged from their sockets. “What?! Who are you?! What was that?! _Hiss_ I’ll have your head for that!”

A short while later, Snakescale sat in the under-deck compartment of Mihawk’s boat, having been knocked unconscious by the hilt end of Yoru. Mihawk was a bit disappointed in himself; it had taken him far too long to tie the man up—not that Snakescale was aware of that fact—was he so out of practice with knots? Resolving to brush up on the topic once he’d arrived back home, he set off toward the nearest Marine Base to claim his prize.  

He sailed into a tiny island that was flying a Marine flag and hoisted Snakescale over his shoulder. After a bit of paperwork, the Base Captain exchanged him for a heavy, clinking sack and mentioned that his take as a Shichibukai would be only 85% of the total bounty, once his government dues were subtracted.

“I’m well aware of the government’s decision to undercompensate me,” he replied, hefting the bundle with his forearm. On his way back to the boat, he picked up a sandwich from a street cart and settled in to sail steadily toward home.

\----

Kasumi had spent the past three days training, practicing at scaling the stairs, and visiting the humandrills. She hadn’t realized how empty the house was without someone else’s footsteps! His voice, his help in the kitchen, even his sarcasm made her feel more at ease. Despite enjoying a bit of privacy, she’d become acutely aware of just how isolated the island was. Just how long was he planning on leaving her alone? When she heard the door creak open during her seventh glass of evening wine, she snapped to attention. _“Who is it?”_

“Eh, who else would it be, hime-kun?” He strolled into the great room and softly placed his bag on the table before collapsing onto the chaise, bringing with him the scent of a person who’d fought near his limit 24 hours ago and hadn’t bathed since.

“Well,” she asked, “did you do whatever it was that you set out to do?”

“Mm,” he nodded, “It was a profitable trip.”

“Profitable?”

He opened his bag to let her see for herself. The bars of gold lay haphazardly atop one another, each proudly sparking in the firelight.

“Whoa! How much is that?”

Mihawk rubbed his fingers across his eyelids. “Eh, four and a quarter million or so? I found some ill-mannered fool who had a decent bounty, so I… liquidated him.”

“Holy shit,” she muttered, “What are you going to do with all that gold?”

“Eh, I’ll store it with the rest, I suppose.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t try me, rabbit. You couldn’t find my hiding place if you were granted all the time in eternity.”

“I’m just saying, you know, banks are a thing…”

His head tilted to the right. “Not for pirates or for Shichibukai who serve at the whim of the government. This island is more secure than any bank.”

Kasumi grunted and shrugged.

“Yosh’,” he sighed, “I’m off to have a bath and then a late dinner. You’re welcome to join me in the kitchen if you’re…” he eyed the near-empty wine bottle, “able to stay awake that long.”

“Mm hm hm,” she laughed, “I’ll do my best.”

He turned on his heels as he exited the room and awkwardly announced, “There’s something in my bag for you. In the front pocket.”

Imagining a gold bar of her own, Kasumi eagerly unbuttoned the flap and stuck her hand into the pocket to find a package of Bunny-Hops Sweet Cakes. “Ohhh! Thank you!” she said, “Bunnies. That’s very… thoughtful of you.”

She picked at the treats until he returned to the kitchen, where she joined him while he ate a quick dinner of leftovers.

“What did you see out there?” she asked, “What did you do?”

“Eh, I happened across an old friend—”

“You have friends?” Quickly covering her mouth, she added, _“Sorry, it just slipped out! It’s just you don’t seem to like people very much.”_

“Even the Devil has friends, Shikkearu,” he chided her between bites. “Do you think so little of me?”

Kasumi sucked air between her teeth. “I just thought… you were like me. Alone.”

In one motion, he stood to deposit his dishes in the sink and reached to grasp her wrist. “Are we not friends, Kasumi-yo?”

She hopped up and allowed him to lead her forward as she protested. _“Well, you, you probably don’t think of me like—”_ a pop of air escaped her throat, _“well, you don’t act like any friend I’ve had before!”_

Mihawk released her wrist and deposited himself on the chaise beside the fireplace, offering a quick wink to Kasumi before picking up the newspaper. He read a while, then briefly inquired about the recent weather while Kasumi built pyramids with the gold bars. She told him that the weather was the same as it was when he’d left; had he expected it to change just because of his absence?

After a few seconds of silence, he squirmed in his seat and bit at the inside of his lip. “Hime-kun, if nothing has changed since I left, might you… it appears that there’s…”

She looked up at him and smirked, “Mm-hm-hm-hm! I told you it's the same! Are you sore from being away from your bed? You want me to rub your back, race horse?”

“That’s it.”

She peeled off his shirt and pushed down into the solid flesh, kneading and smoothing fibers of his muscle. After working over the main groups, she muttered, “It feels fine to me. It’s not tight, no knots. Where does it hurt?”

Mihawk’s eyes came to rest on the floor as he admitted, “Eh, no place in particular…”

“Mm-hm-hm-hm!” she blurted, “So you just wanted a massage? Why didn’t you say so? Okay, but I’m taking a gold bar as payment.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed her cheek against his back. _“I missed you a little.”_

As soon as the thought had left her mind, she was struck with a bolt of embarrassment. The two glasses of water she’d had hadn’t cleared the wine from her head at all! Perhaps he hadn’t heard? She pulled away from him and gave him a business-like pat to signify that she was finished.

“Only a little?” he asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> オォォォォ “Ooooooo” is Mihawk's background sound effect in the manga. It describes a wooshing or roaring noise.
> 
> ゴオォォォ “Goooooo” is Shanks' background sound effect in the manga. It describes a menacing rumbling noise.
> 
> This fight is the source of the scar on Shanks’ left shin (see One Piece Chapter 1, page 7)
> 
> Shanks and Mihawk headcanon awaits at the Ch 20 tumblr post! Come and visit me!   
> https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181455952211/ch20


	21. Forest of Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is following this story, I’d love to hear from you!

The next day progressed as usual, with Mihawk seeming to gloss over the fact that she’d drunkenly hugged him the night before. As they were drying the last of the dinner dishes, he turned and looked at her with mild concern. “Shikkearu, stay here a moment.”

“Um, okay? Is something wrong?”

“Eh, no, ah, just a moment… please,” he muttered before disappearing down the hall.

Kasumi waited in the kitchen, half-expecting him to rush in and attempt to surprise her with a sneak attack. She clenched her hand onto the Norishige more and more tightly as she predicted what he’d say. He’d close his eyes—the smug asshole!—and tilt his head mockingly. “Shikkearu, one must always be prepared for any opponent. Shikkearu, you’ve failed again. Shikkearu, you let your guard down—”

All at once, Mihawk flicked into the doorway, flashing something that looked almost like a smile. “Yosh’, it’s time,” he announced.

The princess stopped herself in the middle of drawing her sword. “Time for what?”

He stared at her forehead and began to recite a poem he’d learned as a child:

> On the sea of the heavens
> 
> Waves of clouds arise.
> 
> The moon boat,
> 
> Among a forest of stars,
> 
> Rows away, as if to hide. *

Kasumi waited politely until he’d finished. What was he getting at? Moon boat? Was this some kind of test? Forest of stars?

“Oh!” Her anticipation burst, “You mean the meteor shower? But you said we couldn’t see it from here.”

Pulling at her wrist, he droned, “It may be that tonight the sky will clear…”

“Oh, alright,” she grumbled, suspicious that he’d take her outside only to laugh at her, yet still holding out hope that she might be able to see one or two especially bright meteors. She trailed him up the staircase and down a dark hallway, protesting softly, “You know, if you’re just taking me out here to prove a point, there’s no need. I believe you that it’s too cloudy to see. You don’t need to embarrass me about it.”

“Bah! You believe I would go to such lengths just to mock you?”

“Yes?” she answered.

Mihawk grunted and gestured toward the ladder to the roof. With each rung of the ladder, the castle roof came more fully into view, revealing a carefully prepared scene: a thick brocade blanket spread over the stones, topped with a  _ kotatsu _ , Yoru, and a basket of wine.

“Oh,” she stammered, “…this is… nice, but I don’t think you can see the meteor shower from here…” She stared upward into the soupy air and added, “And if you’ve only taken me here to laugh at me, you can just forget it. It’s obviously not visible and there’s no point in trying to make me feel stupid—”

Mihawk zipped in front of her and placed his finger to her lips, pressing a bit more than he’d intended to as he whispered, “Please, step back.”

Kasumi lowered her chin and looked up at him skeptically as she moved away.

He brought Yoru overhead and drew a circle in the air, forming a green vortex that shot upwards into the fog, splitting the clouds and creating a wide patch of clear night sky.

Her throat ejected a breath she hadn’t meant to hold on to. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen the sky so clearly from here,” she marveled while stumbling backward.  

Mihawk caught her with a hand in the small of her back as he leaned the sword against the stones. “Kukuku, princess! Perhaps you should sit down before you admire the view.”

Kasumi plopped onto the blanket, astonished, while he poured them each a glass of wine.

“Is this what you’d imagined, hime-kun?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is!” she admitted.

He leaned back against the moss-slick wall, his shoulder grazing hers, their chins tilted to the sky. They sat and drank in silence a long while, until Kasumi sucked in her breath when a meteor sailed across the sky. Mihawk snickered and teased her with a hesitant nudge. “Are you so easily surprised?”

“Well, yes…” she shrugged, “the whole appeal of meteors is that they’re unexpected. Besides, I thought you were taking me up here to laugh at me or to fight me… or both.”

Mihawk tossed his head backward and laughed, his hair shining in the starlight. “Shikkearu, I don’t play tricks. My word is what it is. I asked you to come see the sky.”

Her feet found their way under the kotatsu blanket and she settled in to watch the sky for some time. Every few seconds, a meteor streaked across their field of vision, burning for just a moment before dashing away like a sword strike, each one rapidly fading against the clear black sky.

“Did you know,” she asked, “that if you see five in a row while you hold your breath, it means that you’ll have five years of good luck?”

He took a long sip of wine before answering, “What is luck? All that happens is what’s meant to be. Fate has already decided the path.”

Kasumi banged the back of her head against the wall mockingly. “’Fate has already decided?’ Do you really believe that? Don’t you think some things happen randomly?”

“Whatever occurs was meant to be,” he said with a confident nod.

She scoffed, “Don’t you think you can change the course of fate? Especially if you’re strong! Besides,” she added between drinks, “ **you** change your mind all the time! How do you know you’re not thwarting fate every time you make a decision?”

Mihawk considered what he’d told Shakky almost a month ago: “My only reservation is that I shouldn’t have thwarted fate. She should’ve died, logically.” 

He popped his knuckles and stretched his hands onto his thighs before admitting, “I suppose it’s difficult to determine… Our responsibility is only to perform our duty in life, and let fate attend to the navigation of our course.” As he pulled his arms back to his sides, the back of his hand briefly brushed against hers as it occurred to him that she had a real knack for causing him to reconsider things.

Two meteors crossed the sky simultaneously, one burning quickly and bright as the other glowed weakly for a long while. She pressed her foot against his calf and teased, “You’re talking in circles, like you always do, Hawky. Just what do you think your duty is?”

“To follow the way of the sword,” he answered quickly.

Swallowing a mouthful of wine, she asked, as gently as she could,  _ “But you didn’t choose that life for yourself, did you? You were compelled by adults who wanted you to become a great swordsman. There’s a difference.” _

He grasped her hand and compressed it in his palm. “My skills should not be squandered, dear rabbit.”

“No, I suppose not,” she admitted as their fingers intertwined, “but don’t you ever resent it?”

He emptied his lungs as he considered his response; it was a question he’d asked himself for years now. “Eh, there have been times when there was… disharmony within me. Reluctance to finish certain opponents, or to leave my mother alone at Sabaody. Or a hesitance to dispatch with certain trespassers.”

Kasumi nodded quietly. Mihawk used his free hand to refill both their glasses while she rubbed his thumb with hers. They sat that way for a long time, both staring at the sky as their minds raced with the excitement of holding each other’s hand.

He broke the silence with a practical matter: “Shikkearu, it’s nearly time to return to Water Seven for supplies. There’s a shop I neglected to show you, as well…”

“Mm-hm-hm,” she laughed, “Fate, luck, duty, regret, and now our topic has shifted to groceries? You’re a strange person!”

“So I’ve been told…” he mumbled.

Her head flipped backward like a watermelon atop a grass stalk.  _ “You’re funny,” _ she told him, leaning against his long torso,  _ “You’re cute. I don’t even want to kill you anymore.” _

“That’s nice to hear,” he chuckled.

He stroked his open palm against her hand and then slipped his arm around her shoulder, like he’d seen other men do, but never attempted himself. The meteors had begun to wane, and the air had grown cool and still. Kasumi sighed and leaned against his collarbone.

Mihawk’s heart began to pound so wildly that he feared she’d hear it through his arm! The girl was a distraction for him; he was a distraction for her. Romance was certainly not included in their arrangement. Still, if fate—serendipity, providence, good fortune—had led them to each other, why should he question it now? He finished his glass and reached to pour them each another.  

_ “Oh, I’m fine, thank you,” _ she said; her mind seemed to be swimming more than it ought to be. It was getting cold outside, but she felt as warm as she did sleeping beside the fireplace. Her breath made clouds of steam, but the air didn’t feel cold in her throat. Her heart was pounding, but it didn’t feel anxious—it felt heady and exhilarating, as if she’d dusted off an old map to find a new section of the sea.

He filled his glass and squeezed her against him. Frankly, he hadn’t cared about the meteor shower in the slightest, but he’d seen the prelude to it while he was at sea, and it seemed cruel to deprive her of it. After she’d told him last night that she’d missed him, he wanted to make amends. 

Akagami, as always, was far more skilled in these matters. Displaying a bit of romantic ceremony to the girl was a fine idea, especially if Shanks recommended it. Stubborn as she was, it was likely incumbent upon him to initiate the inevitable:

He was fond of her, and suspected that she was fond of him. 

Leaning down to tell her this, he realized that she’d fallen asleep, her arm draped over his chest. Her head rested fully against him; her hand gripped his torso. How could she wrap herself around him so easily? She was only 18, and a Noble to boot! She was far too trusting, too naive… but so lovely and warm…

His eyes closed and he slept for a short spell. The early-winter stillness had kept the fog from reforming, but without its usual blanket, Kuraigana was cooling quickly.   

_ “Mihawk, _ oi, Mihawk,” she mumbled, “it’s cold. Let’s go inside.”

Snapping back to the waking world, he answered sharply, “Of course!”

She rose and was making her way toward the ladder when an arm grabbed her around the waist and drew her in.

“It’s faster this way,” he said, leaping downward to the bedroom balcony with his arms fastened tightly around her. He landed without a sound and released her from his grasp with a half-smile. 

She let herself inside and left to change into pajamas. When she returned, he was standing at the door of the balcony holding the blanket and what remained of the wine. 

“Hime-kun,” he said softly, placing the blanket and bottles on the floor and crossing the room to meet her, “it’s my earnest wish that you have enjoyed this evening in my company.”

She grasped his forearms and looked up at him. “Thank you for a lovely night. I don’t know what got into you, but tonight was really nice. Thank you for going to all that trouble.” She gave him a quick hug and began to turn down her futon. “Um, I know you probably weren’t keeping count, but did you ever see five meteors in a row tonight?”

“No.”

"Neither did I,” she admitted, before settling in with a blissful smile. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter for a sweet moment <3
> 
> This chapter's tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181574587121/ch21
> 
> * Mihawk’s poem is a traditional Japanese Waka poem from the ancient poetry collection Man'yōshū. It’s not my work! The translation is mine, though, (which you can probably tell because it’s not very good!) The original poem is:  
> 天の海に雲の波立ち月の舟星の林に漕ぎ隱る見ゆ  
> Waka poems are really beautiful! You should read some! Mihawk sometimes references Japanese poetry in One Piece. 
> 
> The poem: http://www.wakapoetry.net/mys-vii-1068/ 
> 
> The anthology: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Man'yōshū
> 
> More about Waka: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waka_(poetry) 
> 
> More about Mihawk’s use of poetry: https://mihawk-in-japanese.wikia.com/wiki/Mihawk_in_Japanese_Wiki


	22. So Quick Bright Things Come to Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: physical abuse of a minor

Mihawk lay awake late into the night, his sheets twisting into a cocoon while he tossed and turned. What had he done?! The humandrill girl, lovely as she was, could never truly be his partner! She had a filial duty to focus on her training until the day she’d come (and fail) to best him, at which point she might go off and marry some other silly noble and begin to restore her family line. Taka no Me Mihawk had no business in attempting to woo her along the way! Besides, he was obliged to spurn any attempt at romance. Saif-Sensei had made that point quite clear in Alabasta, on a night not unlike this one.

He must have been… 15? 16? It was during the years when his hair had grown out long and black, when he was studying the valiant military history of Alabasta and the conquest of Sandy Island. He was also studying, discreetly, his fellow pupil Rashida.

The handful of teens at the elite Alubarna Center for the Study of Horsemanship and Swordfighting, despite their daily interactions, were not supposed to waste time on socialization. The time they spent outside of riding, sparring, and drills was to be devoted exclusively to the study of ancient texts on battle strategy and arms. A tightly-regulated schedule of sleep, meals, and hygiene filled the rest of their available moments. Even after two years, Mihawk still hadn’t taken the time to learn his other classmates’ names; most of his lessons were with Blue-hair, Loudmouth, Rat, and Rashida.

Her smooth, quick footwork and graceful evasions were so pleasing to watch! She could flip through the air and land weightlessly behind her opponent, then flit in for a lively attack before darting away in the opposite direction. She was the most acrobatic of the group by far, which gave her a slight advantage over the muscular boys. Furthermore, her deep, dark eyes and skin, set off by a crown of silver spiky barbs, always seemed to draw his eye. And last week, during study-lunch, he’d caught her looking back at him.

Today, he’d slipped her a piece of paper with a poem—just a couplet that had occurred to him that morning—and she’d lowered her gaze into her lap and smiled tightly. In their two years together, it was possibly the first interaction he’d had with her unrelated to their training. It was glorious.

She’d caught him that evening before heading to her dormitory for the night and pulled him into a dark hallway. “Taka no Me, you know we’re not allowed to fraternize like this.” Her hands ran down the length of his forearms and grasped each of his clammy palms. “I like you. And thank you for the poem. But don’t ever do anything like that again.” She stood on her toes and gave him a quick peck on the lips before adding, “We’re here to study.”

Mihawk closed his eyes and returned the kiss to her soft, precious lips, still slightly salty from the evening workout. “Yes, we are.”

Rashida giggled and slowly withdrew her hands from his, then turned on her heels and left him alone. He made his way to his bedroom and lay awake for some time, his mind swimming with excitement.

His Kenbunshoku haki was already much more advanced than the other students’, but the approach of Saif-Sensei marching toward his room a few nights later didn’t require its use. By the time his door was blown open by the hulking man, Mihawk knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

“What do you have to say about this?” he roared, waving the bit of paper with the couplet. “The cleaning woman found it! Rashida says you gave it to her!” He snatched Mihawk from his bed and slammed him up against the plaster wall. “There’s no place for this kind of thing here!” Saif held Mihawk by the collar of his pajamas and lifted him off the ground to give him a violent shake.

The young man clenched his teeth and stared at his teacher with a frown.

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF!” Saif bellowed.

“I… it was a mistake,” he managed, averting his eyes to the ground.

The heavy beard and mustache of his teacher sometimes hid his facial expressions, but at the moment his eyes were aflame with rage. “A MISTAKE?” He pulled back his fist and delivered a blow to Mihawk’s mouth that caused it to fill with blood. “My students rise above such impulses, especially the best ones, like you and Rashida! Is this note the end of it?”

Mihawk wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Surely, it was better to just be honest about what happened. “We kissed. In the hallway.”

The beating he received that night was like nothing he’d experienced before or since. Saif-Sensei brought his hand against him again and again while Mihawk did his best to remain upright, never fighting back or even attempting to defend himself. He’d known the rules, and he’d chosen to break them. Although he would have preferred a different punishment, there was very little he could do about it.

“Do you think,” the massive man growled, “that you can come all this way to be distracted by girls? Cut her, turn off your heart!” Saif took a step away from the boy and considered his silent passivity, finding it both enraging and admirable. “It’s for your own good, and for hers. You think she doesn’t have dreams? If you aim to be the best, then everyone in the world is your opponent! No one is your friend!  Cut them all!” he gave Mihawk one last shove to the shoulder before Khopesh-Sensei arrived and ended the barrage. Mihawk wasn't sure if he'd ever felt this exhausted.

Khopesh gently helped the boy to the washroom and dabbed at his face with a cool cloth. “Taka no Me, we have these rules for a reason. It’s near-impossible to manage this many exceptional teenagers at once, not to mention the romantic temptations. The expectation,” he offered in a soft voice, “is that you kids will just finish the program and go your separate ways, so there’s no need to muck around with ideas of friends, enemies, and lovers among our students. It’s just easier if you don’t make strong relationships here.”

He patted the young man on the shoulders. “You’re a great talent. And so is she. We’re here to make sure you kids achieve your potential. Don’t ever let anything interfere with that. Ever.”

A week later, Rashida was gone from the boarding school, her parents having retrieved her after they heard she’d been “dating” one of her peers. Mihawk left the program early, catching a ride on Roger’s ship as he set sail toward the New World, with a newfound resolve to focus solely on his training.

\----

What a fool he was to have attempted the same thing this evening! Was he destined to ruin the training of both of the talented girls he’d known? This was a blunder he should have seen coming a long time ago. Damn that Akagami and his carefree advice! Always trying to get him to “loosen up” or to “take it easy.” And what had it brought him? Nothing! In the morning, he would straighten things out with the rabbit.

At breakfast time, Kasumi stumbled into the kitchen and mumbled, “Good morning. You’re up early.” She ran her fingers along his back as she passed by.

He scolded her without looking up from the vegetables he was chopping. “Eh, paws to yourself, rabbit.”

“What?” she asked, “I barely touched you.” She turned toward the fridge to retrieve the leftover rice from last night.

An object whizzed by and landed with a loud thwack beside her head. A half-second later, a breeze blew her hair across her face. Hopping backward, she saw a paring knife lodged into the wall. Her brow crinkled as she looked up at him. “Did you just…”

Without meeting her gaze, he repeated, “Paws to yourself.”

Kasumi slammed the bowl of rice on the counter and plopped down at the kitchen table, grabbing a newspaper to avoid looking at him.

They ate in silence while Kasumi steamed. What the hell was wrong with him? Had she done something wrong? Could it be that last night’s kindness was only his way of mocking her for being foolish enough to believe that he might—

“It’s time to train,” he announced.  

“Ugh! What the hell?” she protested, before following him down the hallway. Striking against him with the Norishige was one of the only things that could make this day go right after such a rude breakfast.

Her mind swam with possibilities. Maybe he was just trying to provoke her into fighting harder? Or maybe he was really _that_ dense… Didn’t he remember what they’d said to each other last night? She swatted at him furiously, her blackened sword ringing in the cool morning air. He yawned and held up the katana he’d chosen for today—he called it the Ito-Kiri*—barely moving it at all, but somehow blocking all of her strikes. Frustrated and bitter, she suddenly charged at him in the soft winter light.

“Oh?” he asked, surprised that she’d changed her usual warm-up.

“Don’t ‘Oh?’ me!” she growled, “I’m stronger than you think, jerk!” She pressed forward as he glared back at her, his boots shuffling toward the wall.

His blade spun like the hand of a clock, stopping Kasumi in her tracks and sending a nasty buzz through her arm. “You’re never going to be able to take me, Shikkearu. You would do best to fight someone else for their castle.”

 _“I don’t want their castle. I want this one!”_ she snarled, _“Move aside, old man.”_

He swung the katana low at her ankles and she hopped backward as he laughed, “Wahahaha! Who’s moving aside? You’re slow. And weak! You’d be dead within the day if you sailed the Grand Line.”

Flicking the claymore upward, she anticipated his dodge and then quickly changed direction to a slash across his chest. A tiny bead of sweat appeared on his temple and he sprung back a short distance before narrowing his eyes and cutting toward her face, drawing a delicate line on her cheek that gradually began to weep blood. _Cut her. No one is your friend. Cut them all._

“Shikkearu,” he sighed, looking at her sword, “you’re hopeless.”

She advanced and whipped the claymore at his head, which he countered by snapping the katana an imperceptible distance, sending her scooting backward on her rear end.  

A rhythmic noise began to pound in her temples as her vision seemed to blur. “What’s your problem, anyway? _Why are you being so awful? You were so sweet last night.”_

He thought for a moment before honestly stating, “I’m… simply attempting… to focus on what’s necessary for you to leave.”

 _“Do you want me to leave that badly?”_ she asked silently, rising to her feet.  

“Yes.”

Her eyes lit up as her hearing dimmed. _“And that’s what you really think?”_

“It would be best if you’d leave soon,” he said, closing his eyes softly.

“You son of a bitch!!!” she roared, _“You think you need to be mean to me now to make up for our little date last night? You think you need to lecture me about it?”_ She growled and sliced at his face, only making enough contact to pop a button off his collar as he leaned backward on his hips. _“I see what you’re up to! You think that I, that—just because I was dumb enough to trust you that you need to rub it in? To remind me that no one will ever love me?!”_ The Norishige made a white trail behind it as she swung for his head, her mind entirely subject to the whims of her gut and the automatic motions of her hands.  

Though a bit impressed with her newfound ferocity, Mihawk was flustered by her interpretation of his words. “Shikke—,” he started, “Eh, Kasumi… it was…” he muttered as he forced her backward, “a… mistake of mine to tempt you. Or to let myself be tempted. Neither of us should be distracted from our goals. The morning has given me a new way of seeing the situation.”

She swallowed hard and dropped her stance, shocked that he’d finally spoken her first name. “You… Do you think I’m distracted? Bah, I’m only using you as a partner as long as I need to before I… I… I… set out and raise my own army! You can’t tempt me! I don’t even have a heart!”

“Good,” he spat, “hate me then. Try to kill me, Shikkearu.” He looked at the Norishige and snarled, “Go away. I don’t want you here.”

A faraway ringing noise began to sound in her ears, while her sword seemed to move on its own until it contacted his with a distant clang. She swung at him relentlessly, reeling with the same killing intent she’d felt at their first battle.

“Foolish humandrill-girl,” he snorted, “trying to find romance with the Devil himself. Go and seek your doom somewhere else!”

She screamed and thrust her sword at his abdomen, but he quickly dodged and then paused to look at her curiously as she buzzed with hatred. Releasing her grip on the claymore, she shoved him in the shoulder with her free hand as she turned and wiped her eyes.

Upon contact with his shoulder, she felt lightheaded, as if she’d stood up too quickly. Blood rushed through her ears and she felt a profound sadness, resignation, regret, and a bit of self-pity. It was almost embarrassing, like reading lines of poetry written by a lovesick teenager. Could that immaturity, that sentiment, that emotion… could it come from him?

Her chest seemed to turn in on itself as she sent him her thought: _“Mihawk, you don’t really believe any of this! I… I like you, too… Why are you doing this?”_

His crimson eyes burned into hers as he insisted, “Eh, no… there’s no justifiable reason for acting on such base impulses. Each of us has obligations, duties, destinies to fulfill. Distractions are a trap.”

“Fine!” she howled, “I never liked you anyway!”

His eyes softened and he tilted his head. Almost instantly, his gaze returned to anger, and he began to thunder, swinging his sword against her viciously. “DON’T YOU THINK I FEEL IT TOO, RABBIT?!” He pushed her into a sunbeam that shot in through the slits in the wall as he boomed, “It’s what’s best for both of us! Sentiment is merely a distraction from the goal, you fool!”

Her hands fell to her sides, and although she still reeked of killing intent, she couldn’t see the point in fighting with him anymore. “You tricked me.”

“It was no trick. It was, however, a mistake. Shikkearu,” he sighed, “just, finish your training here. Then leave and do whatever it is you wish to accomplish on the Grand Line. And if you want to come for my head, then do it at that time… It was a mistake to think that affection could play a part in our… association.”

His gaze fell to the floor; smooth, polished wood neatly arranged in rows. So easy. So unvarying. So simple. “Eh, you're here—as long as I allow you to be—to train. I have a title to uphold. It benefits neither of us to engage in silly distractions. Logically, can't you see that unnecessary complications will only... complicate things?” 

Kasumi dropped her stance and felt her chin begin to tremble. “You’re an asshole, Dracule Mihawk,” she whispered, before turning and walking out of the room. She held her breath until she’d reached the moat, where she screamed into the lifting fog. After kicking rocks into the sea until she’d exhausted her supply, she headed into the swamp to find some humandrills who’d be willing to spar.

Mihawk ran his hands through his hair and sighed. This hadn’t gone nearly as well as he’d planned. He’d aimed to reinstate the distance of their former relationship—the one they’d had before the meteor shower—and pick up as if nothing had happened. It was foolish and sentimental of him to spend time on romance. He’d hoped Kasumi would respond to his rudeness in kind and that the issue would be settled, especially once he explained to her that it was better for both of them to keep a single-minded focus.

He headed into the parlor and attempted to lie down for a nap, but sleep never came. Instead, he found himself pouring a glass of wine and then picking up the den den mushi to call the only person he’d ever called.

“Puru-puru-puru, puru-puru-puru, puru-puru-puru…” He was ready to disconnect the snail when its face lit up and a voice chirped through the line.  

“Mikkun! I was prepping for lunch and hardly heard the snail. How are you, darling?”

“Hahaue…” he said flatly. Why had he even made this call? He knew what she would say…

“Yes, dear? Is everything alright?”

“Hahaue…”

\----

His tired, soft voice brought Shakky back to the time when a six-year-old Mihawk called to her from the kitchen of the Rip-Off Bar.

“Hahaue…”

“Yes, darling, I’ll be right there. I’ve just got to finish washing these dishes and I’ll get you a bite.”

“Hahaue…” he insisted.

She turned and saw him standing there with his eyes fixed on the floor, his head dripping with water, his body covered in blood. “Mihawk!” she gasped.

Dropping the dishes into the sink, she flew to him and scooped him up onto the countertop, where she began to wipe him with a dishtowel.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, trying to hide the panic in her voice.

“No.”

She ran her hands over his arms and legs, then checked his face and head for injuries. Finding none, she asked—as calmly as she could— “Mi-chan, what happened?”

Rayleigh appeared in the doorway, having seen his wife’s frantic retreat from the bar.

“Hahaue…” he said again, “a… a man is dead.”

She paused from wiping his face and looked into his eyes. “By your sword?”

The little boy frowned and nodded.

“Can you tell me what happened, dear? Can you tell me right now?” she asked, knowing that he was usually more communicative after his nap, but now she needed answers right away.

“Um, I should tell you now… because men are coming here.”

Rayleigh stepped into the kitchen and looked down at his son on the countertop. “What happened, kid?”

“The father of the boy I fought yesterday…” Mihawk started hesitantly, pressing his tongue against his front teeth, “he said… I was… a demon child with evil eyes… he tried to hold me under the water at the shore. There was no way to breathe under there… I put my sword in his belly and in his heart.” The little boy spoke solemnly but matter-of-factly, as if he were telling a sad story that happened to someone else. His eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

Relieved, Rayleigh smiled softly and tousled Mihawk’s hair. “Well, that’s nothing to be ashamed of, kid! You defended yourself, that’s all! That’s heroic!”

Mihawk’s eyes lifted and quickly glanced at Rayleigh before settling on Shakky. “Is it alright, then? That the man is dead?”

“Yes, darling, as long as you’re safe,” she replied.

A sudden pounding came on the door of the bar. “Ray?” she asked, “Could you—”

Rayleigh sprang open the door and quickly dispatched the angry crowd of the murdered man’s friends. “My son was well within his rights to defend himself! Whoever disagrees with that can fight me here and now!”

Meanwhile, Shakky ran the boy a warm bath and began preparing his favorite foods for dinner. Rayleigh joined her at the stove while Mihawk bathed. “You know,” he began hesitantly, “that boy whose father was killed—he’s going to have it out for our son. He’s not going to easily forgive… Let me take Mihawk when I go to meet Roger in a few days. He can stay for a while on our ship. I’ll teach him to be a pirate.”

“Absolutely not, Ray,” she replied as she pressed the fish into the pan, “He’s too young. He’s just a boy.”

“He’s _not_ an ordinary boy!” Rayleigh insisted, loudly enough that Mihawk could hear it. “He’s a prodigy! He killed a man today! And nearly killed that boy yesterday! We can’t have him here on Sabaody going at every buffoon that comes after him. Let me take him. He’ll be safe with me.”

Shakky briefly pictured her sweet, shy boy on a ship full of pirate men. “No, no, he’s too sensitive. He’s not ready for that rough life.”

“Then I’ll toughen him up,” he laughed. “Shakuyaku, he’s going to need to learn soon enough. The world is bigger than this archipelago… it will be easier for him to learn from me than to learn on his own.”

Rayleigh had a point. What more could she teach him here besides literature and how to fight the local ruffians? If he was going to see the world, it might be best to do it with Roger and Ray—perhaps even some of the other men would be a good influence on the boy. “Well, let’s ask him what he wants,” she finally conceded.

Mihawk hesitantly agreed after dinner that he would like to see the world on Roger’s ship. “But I will miss you very much, Hahaue…”

Shakky’s eyes filled with water and she dropped her head toward her glass of wine. “Well, I’ll miss you too, darling, of course, but this is a part of growing up.” Looking up at him with a smile, she added, “You can send me letters as often as you want. You’ll get a lot of practice in writing nice letters!”

He slept in her arms for the last time that night, against Ray’s protests. She kissed the top of his head and inhaled the familiar scent at the crown.

“Hahaue…?” he whispered.

“I thought you were asleep, dear. What is it?”

He looked up at her, sincerity beaming through his scarlet eyes. “Are you sending me away because I killed that man?”

Shakky’s heart felt as if it would split in two. “Of course not, my sweet boy! I’d never send you away! You’re my precious little tiger, you know? It’s only that… it’s time for you to see the world, and your sword skills have grown very strong, so strong that there’s nothing left to learn here! You’ll become even stronger with your father teaching you every day! And then you’ll come back to me and we’ll live together again!”

The boy smiled and closed his eyes, pressing his cheek against her chest.

\----

“Hahaue…” his voice snapped her back to reality.

“Yes, Mihawk?”

“Regarding Shikkearu…”

Shakky sighed softly. “Is she alive?”

“Yes,” he scoffed, “of course she is.”

Her voice brightened, “Then it’s the other thing, isn’t it? You two are in love?”

“Eh, it’s… difficult to say…” He hesitated a while before blurting it out: “A person like me shouldn’t… er… a man who was born to die can’t tie himself to a woman who’s fought so hard to live.”

Shakky laughed, “And why not? We can’t help who we fall in love with, Mikkun!”

“But each of us has separate futures, it seems… and ties to me will only distract her from her goal…”

“Listen, darling,” she said, (secretly thrilled that her son had actually formed a relationship with another person), “you two have as much right to love as anyone. And if you end up going your separate ways, then so be it. You’re both young, beautiful, lovely people who shouldn’t avoid emotions just because you fear what might come to be.

> _Ay me! For aught that I could ever read,_
> 
> _Could ever hear by tale or history,_
> 
> _The course of true love never did run smooth.”_ *

 

“Eh, I predicted you would say that…” Mihawk sighed.

“Ufufufu!” she laughed, “That’s because it’s true! Now why don’t you and Sumi-chan just relax and—”

“It’s not possible,” he interrupted, “I’ve taken some actions that seem to have caused the course to… deviate. I thought it would be best if the two of us, um, abandoned that course altogether.”

“Ah, I see. So that’s why you called. What happened?”

Mihawk swallowed a gulp of wine and groaned. “Must I recount it?”

“Well, if you want my help to fix it,” she laughed, “then you should tell me what happened.”

“I, um, took some counsel from Akagami and, eh, attempted to win her heart. And we had a splendid night watching the meteor shower… But I shouldn’t have dared to compromise her training. Or mine. Neither of us should pretend that we have opportunities for…” He inhaled slowly and then finished his account of the situation: “I told her that it was a mistake, and that such… inclinations should be disregarded. She, eh, reacted poorly.”

He heard her take a long drag on her cigarette. “Mihawk, nothing is irreparable. But she’s probably heartbroken! She’s such a sweet girl. What do you want to do, dear? Do you want to be with her?”

“Though I’d assumed it unwise.”

“Ufufu! Does she want to be with you?”

“She’s fond of me. She **was** fond of me.”

Shakky wished she could reach through the snail and stroke her son’s head. Perhaps he’d allow her to speak to Sumi-chan for him? No, he was an adult now, and he needed to learn how to manage his own relationships. This was a course he’d need to sail on his own. “Okay, Mi-chan, listen, you’re going to have to talk to her, to speak up in situations where you’d normally be silent. And you’re going to have to tell her how you really feel. If you want to be together, then don’t be afraid of love! You’re an adult! Love who you want! Not everything can be solved with swords.”

Mihawk sighed loudly. “That seems quite difficult, but I thank you for your advice.”

“Of course, darling! Now let me know how it goes. I just know you’ll work something out! I love you!”

“Then it’s so…” he mumbled before disconnecting the snail and returning to his nap.

\----

Kasumi stayed out all day until the sun had been down several hours, at one point riling the humandrills into a fighting frenzy so fierce and cacophonous that Mihawk wondered if she were raising an army to come for him right away. Still not satisfied after battling them en masse, she smashed some ruins with the Norishige, took a brooding walk along the shore, and finished the evening with several vicious bouts against Takkun at his full strength. Finally exhausted, she returned to the castle grounds and filled her arms with firewood before sneaking inside through the kitchen door.

Mihawk caught her as soon as she rounded the corner to the hallway. “Shikkearu,” he said hesitantly as he eyed her bloodied and disheveled appearance, “I'd like to... speak with you. I've erred. I pushed the pendulum too far in my attempt to normalize relations. In fact, I feel affection for you and I now… believe that last night was not a mistake, but the commencement of a marvelous new era.”

But Kasumi was already up the stairway, ignoring everything he’d said as she carried the bundle of firewood to the third floor.

He met her on the landing. “Won’t you join me a while, hime-kun? To speak just a while? And… er, there’s no need for firewood in the bedroom. I’ve stocked it already.”

She curled her lip and spoke toward the wall beside him. “I’d rather go to sleep now in my old bedroom.”

“But it’s cold in there…”

“It’s cold in your room, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * I’m really sorry for dragging you through such a sad chapter! It gets better, I promise. Saccharine goodness awaits. 
> 
> * Yes, we will be coming back to learn more about Mihawk’s training days in Alabasta. It wasn’t all child abuse and thwarted love. You think I’m going to pass up an opportunity to write about long-haired teenage Mihawk and his horse???? 
> 
> * Ito-Kiri = 糸切り = thread cutter
> 
> * Shakky’s quote (and the chapter title) are taken from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” The context is that Lysander and Hermia agree to be patient and work through their difficulties upon realizing that all true love has some obstacles. Shakky ought to know, since she’s so easygoing about Rayleigh’s shenanigans ;-)
> 
> Ch 22 tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181601531021/ch22


	23. Capricieux

Kasumi headed directly to the guest bath for a quick shower; she was exhausted, and although a bath would have been nice, she feared she’d fall asleep as soon as she slipped into its warmth. After peeling off her clothes and examining her injuries in the mirror, she decided that the cut Mihawk gave her on the cheek this morning was more benign than she’d feared.

The nasty scrape on her hip from her fight with Takeo _,_ however, burned with every movement she made. She gingerly began to rinse away the dirt and blood to reveal an area of stinging, raw skin, ground away to the meat in a few sections. He’d seemed genuinely surprised to have landed the blow that sent her skidding across the jagged stones and he brought her a flower for her hair as an apology after the match; the damn baboon had more compassion than Mihawk!

Washing herself quickly, she reviewed the day. First of all, she’d been an idiot to believe that Mihawk was a normal person even remotely capable of love; it was clear that he was the same madman who’d tried to kill her on the first day! Whatever she’d thought she’d seen in him just wasn’t there. No wonder he lived all alone! Very soon—as soon possible!—she’d leave this place, ready or not. Staying here would mean she’d be immersed in his presence; every day, his voice, his face, even his boots clicking on the stone floors entranced her against her will. And why was he always wearing boots indoors? The brute! How had she let herself fall into his hands?! A princess!

After a few years on her own, she was certain that she’d be able to raise a small force to take this island back from him without even having to see his face again. Even better, he could sail off to his death in some meaningless battle, and she could claim the island without the hassle of thinking of him at all!

She towel-dried her hair in a huff and then crossed the hall to her bedroom, where she started a decent fire and changed into her warmest pajamas and socks. Judging that she should deal with the open wound over her hipbone sooner rather than later, she pushed down her waistband and twisted around to dab at the stripped skin before preparing a bandage.

Suddenly, a knock rattled the door. “Shikkearu… It’s your dinner…”

Ugh! Was he really this oblivious? “That’s fine. Can you just leave it there? Please? I’m a little busy…”

“Eh… I suppose if you’d rather have me place it here on the floor. But, if it were… perhaps…”

Kasumi rolled her eyes while she tapped at her side. “Fine,” she huffed as she shuffled into the corner, “put it on the nightstand.”

The door creaked open and Mihawk emerged from the hallway carrying a tray with two bowls, an open bottle of wine, and a thin book. His eyes flew to the nightstand upon noticing her exposed hip and waist; his prepared remarks escaping him, he set down the tray and turned back toward the door. “Shikkearu… did you… do you—”

“Oh, it’s just a scrape. It was a good fight. Takkun got the best of me for a moment, that’s all.”

“Understood. I brought food and—” He paused as she patted the bandage into place before wrapping a length of fabric around her lower waist. “—this is a five-year-old varietal Shiraz from South Blue. One should notice the full-bodied flavor with hints of black pepper.”

Unloading the dinner tray, she coolly thanked him while he stood there nervously, waiting for her to say something. At last, he remembered his mother’s advice and forced himself to start the conversation: “Hime-kun, the position of the stars may seem variable from our vantage, but each one knows its place and traces its pattern without ever moving on its own, like the sunflower that follows the path of the sun without uprooting—”

Kasumi looked up from her soup. “What do you want to tell me, Mihawk?”

“Eh—”

“That’s what I thought,” she snapped, her defensive hackles rising, “You came in here to spout off esoteric ramblings so you can feel you’re superior to me. What now? You’ve changed your mind about how you feel about me? I’m not interested. I’m only here to train a while longer. I’m leaving as soon as I can. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

Mihawk glanced at the mark on her cheek and tried again. “I only want to say that… it’s… although the sapling and the vine might contest the same sunbeam, their aims are reciprocal, and they would find harmony if only they’d agree to cling to one another.”

“Oh, okay, then,” she huffed, “Well, now that’s out of the way, can you leave me alone?”

His eyes began to glow a fearsome carmine red. “Rabbit,” he hissed, “your language is certainly unprincess-like this evening… And are your ears truly so stuffed with fur?” His boots clicked sternly on the stones as he made his way to the door, which slammed behind him. His plan for reconciliation seemed to evaporate a little more each time he spoke with her this evening.

Kasumi ate the dinner of artichoke soup and simmered fish, then picked up the book, whose faded cover read “Poetry of the Ancients.” She tucked it into her palm and it easily fell open between two pages that were marked by a silk handkerchief. The poem on the left-hand page read:

> Again and again,
> 
> What I've already passed by
> 
> Is what I truly long for;
> 
> If only I could go back to that place
> 
> Like how the waves return. *

 On the right-hand page, she saw:

> If it's my fate
> 
> While I journey under the skies,
> 
> Limited by nothing but the heavens,
> 
> As the days and months pass
> 
> Oh! Let me stay in your heart! *

She reread each page. “Well, which is it?” she mumbled, “Do you want your old life back or do you want me to stay? Maniac…” Once she’d finished the book and the wine, she replaced the handkerchief as a bookmark of her own.

\----

After a night on the lumpy guest bed, she made her way downstairs and silently placed the book on his usual napping couch in the parlor. They had a quiet, anxious breakfast before joining each other to begin the day’s training.

She fought with clenched teeth against him that morning while he sleepily defended with a pair of hook swords. “What?” she demanded, “You‘re not going to say anything today? Not even something rude? Not even to tell me that I’m hopeless?”

He stared at her and frowned a moment before he began to explain, “Shikkearu, there’s no reason to for me to taunt you today… your offense is best when you hate me, it seems.” Shifting his weight onto his other foot, he added, “It may serve you better to train with this in mind…”

“So you’re just being mean to me so I’ll fight you?” She advanced on him and drove him back as he calmly parried each blow without countering.

“Bah! No! That’s not it. It’s only an answer to your question. I don’t taunt you because your fire is already roaring…”

“Then fight me back! Why are you backing up?” she nearly screamed.

Mihawk’s mouth grew tight, his eyes swallowed by angry doubt, as he mumbled, “I don’t know.” His mind began to race. How would he continue to train the humandrill-girl if he couldn’t even bring his sword against her? And how were they to move forward when the issue hadn’t been settled between them? There was none of the usual playfulness in her fight, only rage and pain. Yesterday’s Ito-Kiri had done its job too well… If she could just see him as an opponent instead of the man who—

Kasumi swung for his head with a deafening shriek. Though he swatted her blade away again and again, her attempts became more impressive as her consciousness seemed to dim. She pressed the Norishige against the crossed swords, sending a buzzing vibration through the metal and directly to Mihawk’s ears. A spatter of saliva spewed from her lips with each breath; tears poured from her eyes.

_“You bastard! You toyed with me on purpose! And now you want to be friends again?”_

Mihawk linked the swords and swung them over head, granting himself a wider berth from the raging princess. “Fire-rabbit, I erred, I asked your forgiveness,” he ducked and grunted, “and I’m attempting to make things right between us.”

The sparring room vibrated with tension as the two desperately urged each other to understand. Mihawk slowed the rotation of the hook swords and wielded them separately.  

“Fight me. A real fight. At your limit,” she growled.

“Eh, that’s not on the table, Shikkearu.”

Kasumi roared forward and slashed at his midsection as the Norishige clanged against a blackened hook sword. “FIGHT ME!” she cried, swinging the claymore anew in an arc toward his bicep.

He saw the opening her foolish wind-up created and prepared to strike, putting an end to her silly tantrum.

Her face contorted with ferocity as she whipped the Norishige toward him; the light from the slit windows briefly illuminated the wound on her cheek. The cut he gave her. The cut he’d so carefully drawn just enough to bleed, but not enough to scar. The cut that felt as if he’d sliced his own heart. The Ito-Kiri’s cut that severed the thread of love.    

Mihawk’s forearms faltered; the hook swords failed to move at all. The claymore flew straight to its target and creased his shirt upon impact.

She saw his sleeve open up and reveal the pristine skin beneath, white and smooth as Carrara marble. Bewildered that she’d actually snagged his clothing, she dropped her stance and studied him for a moment before the blood began to seep out of the cut and run down his sleeve. His crimson eyes looked endlessly sad; he wrinkled his brow and tilted his head slightly as she gasped.

“What?!” she shrieked, “What the hell is wrong with you?” She tossed the Norishige to the floor and cried out in a panic, “Why did you let me hit you?” His expression unchanged, she shoved him in the ribs and pounded on his chest as tears streamed from her eyes. “Why did you let me hit you?! Why didn’t you block it? You always block it!”

He felt the cold wall of the sparring room against his back and placed the hook swords on the floor. She was still swatting at him, but he didn’t know what to say. He’d been distracted—not by love, but by its absence. Had he really taken a strike from the humandrill girl?

Kasumi’s eyes and nose ran with fountains of tears as she grabbed him by the shoulders. “Why are you so damn difficult? Say something!” she wept, her hands clenching desperately on his shirt, “Say something right now!”

His mouth regained its default frown, but his eyes softened as he admitted, “Eh, I suppose it was… a lapse in concentration…”

“A lapse?” She rushed off and grabbed a towel for his arm, which was now dripping into a puddle on the floor. “This is a real cut, Mihawk!” she sputtered, “I hit you as hard as I could! I could’ve taken your arm off! Why did you wait so long to use haki?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered honestly.

“Just, just stay here a minute,” she said, running toward the hallway.

After jumping the staircase more quickly than she’d ever imagined possible, she was back at his side as he stood on the patio and patted at the wound. He hadn’t bled like this since he was a child; it was surprisingly red and slippery.

“Take off your shirt so I can sew you up,” she demanded through tears, producing a needle and a spool of silk thread. She’d watched Henri stitch hers and other's wounds plenty of times—how hard could it be?

Mihawk sat down on the patio and removed his shirt before starting to fold it neatly on the tile floor.

“Don’t worry about that right now!” she scolded, “Just let me see.”

The slash was long, but only moderately deep; as if his own body had protected itself at the last second. She pressed the towel onto it with both hands, asking over and over, _“Why didn’t you block? Why did you let me touch you? Did you do this on purpose? What were you thinking?!”_ until the bleeding stopped. Confusion and fiery passion washed over her each time she squeezed against the wound, though she was unsure if the emotions were his or her own; their eyes met and locked for a moment before she began to prepare the needle and thread, her breath interrupted by sobs.

He raised his knee to rest his injured arm at Kasumi’s eye level. “Eh, don’t cry so,” he said, “It’s only a small cut, and you should celebrate landing your first—and only—successful blow in this room… It’s not an experience you’ll have again.”

Kasumi hardly heard him. “Shush, just be still. This is going to sting a bit,” she said softly as she began the first stitch. “Why did you let me hit you?”

“Well, I didn’t intend to be struck, rabbit.” Seeing the distress on her face, he quickly added, “But the fault is mine alone…”

She pulled the thread through the skin on either side of the cut again and again, holding his taut bicep in her arm. Stupid Mihawk! Just yesterday, he was the meanest bastard she knew, and today he was so astounded by his own emotions that he couldn’t even fight?

Mihawk sat perfectly still, baffled at how this could have happened—any chance he’d had at making things right with her seemed to slip away like the waves disappearing into the sand.  

When she finished the line, she’d run a length of twenty stitches neatly along his arm. “There, now leave it alone, even if it itches. Take them out in a week or two, and you’ll be fine,” she sniffed.

He looked down to inspect her work. “Rabbit, why do you cry? Don’t you wish me dead? I thought you didn’t have a heart…”

Kasumi patted the stitches gently before applying a soft dressing over his arm. _“I say a lot of things. So do you. That doesn’t mean that I want to cut you. Besides,”_ she answered silently, leaning back on her heels, _“it’s just easier if we don’t… socialize like that.”_

He craned his neck to close the distance between their faces and pressed his lips against the cut on her cheek—not a kiss, but just a quick glancing of his lips against the reminder of how everything had fallen apart yesterday. He inhaled sharply before forcing himself to speak. _“Imo*,_ your emotions now,” he whispered, “at having landed an accidental blow… are only a fragment of the grief I felt yesterday.” His hot breath fluttered her hair against her neck as his voice rumbled in her ear. “Is it possible—if it were agreeable to you—can yesterday be erased entirely?”

Kasumi suddenly saw him as the quiet boy in Shakky’s bar: sweet, observant, and naive. _“Mihawk, it doesn’t work like that… besides, it won’t be long until I leave and—”_

“And what, my dear?” he asked while running his hand down the length of her arm, “What is it that you’re rushing off to?”

Kasumi raised her head and admitted that she didn’t know. She only knew that she had to get away from him. He was scared of being with her, just like all the others were. Allowing him into her heart in the first place had been a mistake, and letting him back in after he’d been such a jerk was simply stupid. She couldn’t trust him. She couldn’t trust anyone.

She stood and cleaned up the mess as best she could, then left him alone so she could catch her breath with some mid-morning tea.

As he replaced the hook swords in the pile, his eyes fell onto Kasumi’s cutlass mounted on the wall. Only a month ago, the humandrill princess had arrived, begetting the most self-doubt he’d ever experienced. Perhaps he could convince her to stay a while longer as he regained her trust.

He walked silently down the hallway to attempt a nap and saw the poetry book lying on the sofa as soon as he entered the parlor. Had she written back? The cover parted where she’d marked the pages and he quickly scanned them both.

The left page read:

> The cold wintry wind,
> 
> Not even it knows,
> 
> No one knows.
> 
> These words, like leaves
> 
> How they pile up! *

The right hand:

> Even though in dreams
> 
> Feet don’t rest on the path
> 
> Constantly going back and forth,
> 
> In reality
> 
> I haven't had a single glimpse of him. *

He curled his lip and thought for a moment. Had she intended to mark the poem on the left or on the right? The latter’s interpretation seemed a bit more favorable to him, he thought. If she were intent on leaving soon, perhaps he could offer her another glimpse… The course of true love never did run smooth.

After his nap and a quiet lunch of sandwiches, he asked her what she’d meant. “If you were to leave me a message, would I find it on my left or right side?”

“I could ask you the same,” she countered.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “I intended you to read the two of them…”

“Both? You want me gone and you want me here?” she scoffed, placing her dishes in the sink.

“Eh, I would expect a princess to have more aptitude at interpreting poetry…”

“Um, ‘What I've already passed by is what I truly long for?’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Yes,” he answered with a confused look, “to return to the state we enjoyed before I… before the thread was cut… ” He stood and met her at the sink. “It may be that the thread will heal itself and—”

Kasumi sighed. “You can’t just change your mind like that, Mihawk! Whatever happened to, ‘Shikkearu, I don’t play tricks. My word is what it is?’ Now you change your mind about me every day.”

“I never lied to you!” he hissed softly, “My feelings are always as I state them at the time! I pushed you away for your own good. And you’re no different! ‘I like you, I never liked you, I hate you’… if only you could channel that passion into your training—or give it to me. Imo, agree to resume where we left off on the roof. Forget yesterday.”

“It doesn’t work like that! You can’t just flip it like a switch!” she said, her teeth briefly transforming into fangs.

Mihawk stood unfazed. “Ah… then how should I ignite it? An apology? A gift?”

She smoothed her hair and muttered, “Just why do you want to reignite it anyway? What changed your mind about distractions? I thought you saw a new way of looking at our situation. Now you can’t even hold your sword against me?”

“Eh,” he hesitated, “I spoke to my mother.”

“Of course…” she huffed, secretly touched that he found the issue worthy of Shakky’s advice.

“She told me… Shikkearu—it’s a mistake to disregard it. This moment should not be squandered… and, she told me to speak to you though it may be uncomfortable…”

She curled her eyebrow. “And this is your best attempt at implementing that?”

His patience for the conversation was running thin. “Too far, rabbit! I’ve overextended myself quite a bit in this business of apologizing and asking for your favor. Do you want me or not?”

 _“Of course I do!”_ she thought, plunging her hands into the sink.

His face tightened as he stiffened his back and asked a final time, “Then forget yesterday. Let me stay in your heart.”

Kasumi’s tears fell into the dishwater as his words hung lazily over the kitchen. _“And you won’t change your mind again?”_

“My mind…” he mumbled, “was never in doubt about my… sensibilities for you. ’Twas only that I unwisely doubted the natural course of fate, rabbit.”

She wrapped her sopping hands around his back as he folded her into his arms.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **** People, if your love interest physically harms you, RUN, DON'T WALK and never look back. They aren't Mihawk and you aren't Kasumi. ***** 
> 
> The poems in this chapter are actual Waka poems from Heian period Japan. The translations are mine, but they’re a poor approximation of the meanings in Japanese!
> 
> The two poems Mihawk marked are from two famous Japanese Waka poets known for their love poems:
> 
> いとゞしく過ぎゆく方の戀しきにうら山しくも歸浪哉  
> Again and again  
> What I've already passed by  
> Is what I truly long for;  
> If only I could go back to that place  
> Like how the waves return!
> 
> by Ariwara no Narihira https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ariwara_no_Narihira  
> http://www.wakapoetry.net/gss-xix-1352/
> 
> and
> 
> ちぎりあらば旅の空なるほどばかりすぐる月日も心あらなむ  
> If it's my fate,  
> While I journey under the skies,  
> Limited by nothing but the heavens  
> As the days and months pass  
> Oh! Let me stay in your heart!
> 
> by Fujiwara no Sanekata https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fujiwara_no_Sanekata  
> http://www.wakapoetry.net/sanekata-shu-333/
> 
> The two poems Kasumi marked are by a famous woman Waka poet:
> 
> こがらしの風にもみぢて人しれずうきことの葉のつもる比かな  
> The cold wintry wind,  
> Not even it knows,  
> No one knows.  
> These words, like leaves  
> How they pile up!
> 
> and
> 
> 夢ぢにはあしもやすめずかよへどもうつつにひとめ見しごとはあらず  
> Even though in dreams  
> Feet don’t rest on the path  
> Constantly going back and forth,  
> In reality  
> I haven't had a single glimpse of him.
> 
> Both of the poems she marked were written by Ono no Komachi. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ono_no_Komachi  
> http://www.wakapoetry.net/skks-xviii-1802/  
> http://www.wakapoetry.net/kks-xiii-658/
> 
> * Imo: archaic Japanese word for lover, wife, little sister, close female companion
> 
> Come visit me and see cool hook swords at this chapter's tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181734241576/ch-23
> 
> Ch 23 Mihawk's Wine Selections: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181734950731/ch23mws


	24. Coronation

Kasumi was exhausted from the emotional and physical exertion of the day, but she couldn’t relax. Her legs carried her mindlessly around the castle as her thoughts writhed around in an attempt to process all that had happened:  

He liked her.

He was an ass to her.

He told her it was a bad idea to be together.

He cut her.

She cut him.

He gave her a weird apology, which she ostensibly accepted.

Now what? She wasn’t sure if she’d really forgiven him or if it was just that she wanted so badly to forget that it had all happened. She’d liked him better before he’d gotten so uptight about what was “proper” or “beneficial” for both of them. Before, he was a predictable bore who was sometimes surprisingly sweet; now, he was an erratic crush who seemed to change his approach to her several times a day!

She wandered down the west wing hallway, brushing her fingertips along the chilly stone wall. Mihawk never seemed to use this part of the castle, and it showed; dust and cobwebs hung over every surface, and the candles along the way were all melted down to stubs. _Why does he even live here if he’s not going to appreciate it?_ Kasumi fumed. Maybe this week she’d have time to work on straightening it up a bit, once she’d finished the other chores. Mihawk did his share, of course, but he had no interest in the rooms that weren’t useful to him. What a waste!

The hallway widened to a large mirrored alcove before the walls seemed to unfold around her, revealing a once-magnificent ballroom. It must have been nearly five years since this room was last used!

Kasumi blew the dust off a nearby drink cart that stood at her service, just waiting for someone to call it into use. It tilted easily back onto its wheels, and she shoved off with her left foot. She grinned as she balanced her feet on the rung and glided noisily across the ballroom, coming to rest with a gentle collision into the far wall.  

“Ah-chih!” her sneeze echoed through the dark, dusty room. For hundreds of years, this place hosted banquets, weddings, holidays, and parties that were not _quite_ important enough to be held in the southeastern castle. How long had it been since laughter and chatter (not to mention the inevitable argument that accompanied every gathering of Shikkearu) had rung around the walls and bounced off the tiled ceiling?

She hopped down and ran her finger over a long-forgotten buffet table, drawing a swirling line that ended in a heart. A moldy paper banner lay crumpled on the floor at her feet. Unrolling it with her foot, she read “Happy 18th Birthday, Mei!”

Mei?! Had a birthday party? That couldn’t be right! Kasumi’s brother had turned 18 that month as well, during the final weeks of the war, and all he was granted was a coming-of-age ceremony and a quick rundown of the next day’s battle plan!

Her own 18th birthday had been celebrated with an anxious session of cake and tea in Odette’s kitchen, after which Henri had given her a lecture about how she was “demonstrating that she wasn’t fully prepared to assume her title” and how she needed to “get her head on straight.” Mei, it seemed, was the last Shikkearu girl to have a true royal birthday party. Kasumi couldn’t help but feel a little jealous.

How foolish they were to have held a party when the island was at war! She spun on her heels and looked across the empty space; now this room was _hers._ The castle was hers—well, sort of—and none of them could do anything about it! She tossed herself forward into a handspring and followed up with a double cartwheel. Who could stop her? Not even Dracule Mihawk!

In landing her second trick, her slipper skidded over the unswept floor, sending her sliding along on her backside.

“Oof.”

“Hime-kun?”

“Hime-kun?”

Kasumi jumped up and dusted off her pants. “How did you know I was in here?”

“Kukuku, if you worked to improve your Kenbunshoku haki, you’d be able to determine my location as well!”

She locked eyes with him and reminded him that she didn’t have that talent.

Mihawk smirked, “But why not? You simply haven’t been trained correctly.”

Still holding his gaze, she said, “No, they tested me. Lots of times. Some Shikkearu don’t have it.” A corner of her lips curled up slightly in a shrug. “Something to do with our brains.”

“You probably just lack composure…” he mused, “Even if you can’t see auras, you should at least be able to feel someone’s presence.”

“Nope,” she countered, narrowing the distance between them as clouds of dust stirred up behind her.

His muscular hand grasped her own and brought it to his lips. “Rabbit, stay here and study your technique. You may still be able to learn it. Allow me to offset the harm I caused you yesterday and… to see you safe here with me.”

She twirled under his arm and passed around him with a series of spins as he rotated in place, holding her hand above her head. “It’s **really** not something I can do. I just have to make up for it by getting stronger and working on my Busoshoku haki and telepathy… Hm!” she chuckled, “I didn’t know you could dance.”

“I can’t,” he snapped, “I mean, of course I can! I just choose not to. It’s wasted movement.”

Kasumi laughed, “Mm hm hm! Well, we can’t have you wasting any of your precious energy, can we? Why don’t we have a nap in the parlor before the sun sets? I’m beat.”

“An excellent idea, Shikkearu,” he said, “And I’ll be the first to claim my spot by the fireplace.” He pressed his palm against her collarbone and then took off, daring her to race him through the hallway.

Despite running at full tilt, she arrived in the parlor several seconds behind him and found him already curled up on a chaise.

“I want to be by the fireplace, too,” she mumbled, pushing the other chaise to face his. Kasumi lay down and reached across to find his hand, but the gap was too great. Springing back up, she nudged at the chaise with her hip until it met his, then fell asleep, holding his hand in her own.

She awoke a while later to the sounds and smells of dinner being prepared. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” she asked as she strolled into the kitchen, “I could've helped you.”

“I was hungry. And you said you were beat.” He shimmied the skillet on the stove and gave the dish a pinch of salt before plating a pile of sautéed noodles for each of them. They sat together at the table in contented silence; smiles, grunts, and wine were the only things that passed between them.

At long last, he asked, “Hime-kun, how can you be certain that you don’t have Kenbunshoku haki? You may have just been overlooked.”

She downed her glass and insisted, “I told you, they tested me! Blindfolds, meditation, breathing exercises—nothing ever worked. I was never able to feel it. Believe me,” she laughed, “if I could have predicted their attacks, or even known where my opponents were, I wouldn’t have taken so many licks!”

Mihawk’s eyes flashed. “Blindfolded ambushes seem like an odd method of training a princess.”

 _“Who are you to say that?”_ she shot back, _“Besides, I’m sure you were worked just as hard!”_

His muscular hand grasped her own and brought it to his lips. “Rabbit, I was training to reach the top. You were the fourth child of a tiny swamp kingdom…”

Kasumi briefly reached her boiling point at hearing the insult, but decided to restrain her temper; after all, today had been enough drama already. “Yes, but my family’s existence was on the line. I wasn’t just after some ‘title’ for my own glory. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Perhaps not…” he replied.

That night, they sat together on the sofa in the great room before the fire. Kasumi’s feet rested on his thigh as she worked at embroidering her family crest onto her new pajamas while he reviewed the newspapers. He’d poured her a tall glass of Pinot Noir as he told her, “This is the flavor Fortier aspires to achieve. Remember it.” Wounds and tears were each dried up, and a comfortable feeling hung over the room so that an observer might think that nothing at all had happened between them.

After she’d finished the first outlines, she set down her work and shook out her hands. “Um, I was thinking,” she started, “that if we’re going to keep training together, we might need some ground rules. So that we don’t have any more, uh, misunderstandings.”

“Why?” he asked, without looking up from his paper, “The procedures can be modified as you progress. It’s impossible to predict what tomorrow’s training might bring.”

“No, dummy, that’s how we got in this mess. You want to go through this again?” she asked, gently kicking him.

“There’s no need for rules,” he insisted.

Kasumi rolled her eyes. “Well, if you’d had a better plan for, you know, extreme circumstances, you could’ve countered my blow this morning.”

“Hmph,” he grunted. He swirled wine around his in mouth and then turned his attention to the bounty posters enclosed in the center of the newspaper. “Rabbit, if it’s to your benefit, then establish your rules. My arrangement with you was that you’d become stronger and learn to channel your anger. There’s very little chance that I can teach you without stoking your anger anew,” he droned as he refilled his glass. “What rules do you wish?”

Kasumi produced a pen and began to write on the back of a bounty poster in her boyish handwriting:

  1. Taunts during training will be forgotten outside of the sparring room.
  2. Kasumi can attack Mihawk as strongly as she wants without warning.
  3. Mihawk will treat Kasumi like a regular opponent.



He glanced at the list and announced, “No.”

Kasumi’s eyes bulged. “No, what?”

“No to all of them,” he scoffed.

“Why? What’s wrong with them?”

“Shall I list each one’s faults?” he sneered, his eyes sharp and stern.

She was genuinely stumped as to how he could have any objections. “Yes?”

“Eh, the first: ‘Taunts during training will be forgotten outside of the sparring room.’ How would you learn to focus your anger if every taunt was known to be false? How do you imagine you’ve improved so greatly since you arrived?” He closed his eyes and took a long drink before adding, “Your Fortier is… loath to taunt you, hime-kun; however, your anger seems to be the key to your strength. I shall anger you as much as possible. It seems I have a gift for it. Some taunts will be empty; some will be based on apt assessments of your weaknesses.”

“I just thought it would be easier if we—”

He looked askance at her and restated his position. “Humandrill-hime, I’m not going to cease taunting you.”

“I’m not asking you to!” she blurted.

“Hmph. Good. Number two,” he chided, “is entirely out. What, do you see me as some sort of punching bag?”

“Yes?” she admitted, “You’re supposed to be the best, so why can’t I try anything I want on you?”

Mihawk curled his lip. “It shows a lack of respect.”

“It will keep you on your toes,” she offered.

“Eh, I grow weary of being hounded by little pups. It won’t help you defeat those who aren’t me. Furthermore, it’s shameful swordfighting.” Bringing his glass to his lips, he paused and then quickly added, “And, eh, the third is the most odious of the bunch. In no way, ever, will I treat you as a regular opponent.”

“What?” she cried as she leaned in and snarled at him, “I thought you were a proud swordsman! I thought you were going to teach me, ‘Master Swordsman Taka no Me!’”  

“Bah! Of course I am. And I’ll fight you at an appropriate strength without injuring you… unnecessarily.” He ran his thumb and index finger down a strand of her hair before patting her on the shoulder.  

“But I want to fight you at your best!” she contested, “I want to know what it’s like!”

“Kukuku, dear,” he laughed, “there’s very few people who have seen me at my fullest. I can’t dream of fighting you such.” His hand moved around to the back of her neck and squeezed gently.

She stiffened and lengthened her neck before teasing him, “Then you’ll get hit like you did today!”

“Mm,” he smiled, “today’s hit was an anomaly. You’ll never strike me again, rabbit… and I believe that’s your preference.” He folded the newspaper and looked at her directly. “Shikkearu, I’ll continue to taunt you as much as seems… necessary for your training. I hope you won’t dwell on each remark. Secondly, I’ll not allow you to sneak-attack me like a wild bandit. Regardless of my ability to deflect it, it’s rude. And thirdly, I’ll treat you as a student, not as a genuine opponent. Outside of training, we can proceed as… companions. Will these rules suffice?”

Kasumi flexed her toes and hesitantly agreed that it sounded workable. Mihawk refilled both their glasses and began a toast to “the new blossoms which sprout from the second axillary bud… although the first were splendid, they were pruned too roughly…” Kasumi pushed her glass toward him and then brought it to her lips, but stopped as she realized he was still talking.

“The second blossoms shall be cultured with more care under the gardeners’ new tenets…” She smiled and tilted the glass, but he continued, “For although a wild blossom may reveal… a delicate strength, it’s only through deliberate caretaking that a bloom might be protected from the casual and indiscriminate violence of the whims of nature…” She parted her lips and swallowed, thinking surely he was finished.

Mihawk opened his eyes and completed the toast. “so that the shrub may fully express its perfume and depth of color.” He frowned upon noticing that Kasumi was already mid-sip, then tapped his glass against hers. “Princess, is your decorum so lacking… or is it that you’re unable to resist now that you know the flavor of a good Pinot?”

“Hush, you!” she laughed, “How was I to know you’d prattle on like that?” Their eyes locked for a moment before they each took in a mouthful of wine and then returned to their evening activities. By the time the firewood was exhausted, they’d finished several more bottles and Kasumi’s needle seemed to require several stabs at the flannel before finding the proper target.  

She lumbered upstairs while he followed closely behind. Once they reached the hallway, he flashed away to her bedroom and returned almost instantly, holding her bedding and leading her by the hand to the master bedroom. She re-established her futon behind the wall of furniture and peeled back the duvet.

Mihawk interrupted her with a confident voice that seemed to come from nowhere. “My bed is also very big. There’s enough space for you.”

“Oh,” she said softly, “I don’t think… tonight…”

Mihawk’s cheeks began to burn—most certainly due to the wine, he reasoned. “Eh, no… my intentions—”

Kasumi smiled and settled into the futon before murmuring, “Maybe when the shrub has grown a bit more.”

\-----

Several days passed easily as her training progressed and the mark on her face gradually disappeared. Outside of their exercises, they settled into a comfortable routine peppered with gentle teasing and evenings curled up together on the sofa. Though they were each unsure what the future might hold, the present situation was pleasant enough to simply relax and enjoy not being constantly at each other's throats.

One morning, Kasumi rose early to bathe, then recited a short blessing before heading to the kitchen to prepare a special breakfast. Just as she was plating the first stack of pancakes, Mihawk entered the kitchen, wearing a pair of black pajamas and a frown.

“What kind of breakfast are you making, Shikkearu?”

She turned and smiled. “Oh, I thought pancakes with fruit might be nice for today.”

“I don’t like sweet food for breakfast…”

“Well, then you can eat leftovers from last night,” she muttered, abandoning the rest of the batter and walking out of the room with her plate. Couldn’t he let her have nice things once in a while?

He met her in the training room in a bit and found her furiously striking against the training dummy. Yesterday, she’d grinned widely as he came at her with a flurry of blows she could hardly see; the Norishige seemed to move on its own, faithfully protecting her against the insistent rhythm of his strikes. But today, she grit her teeth and fought against the dummy instead. After watching her for some time, Mihawk finally dispatched an angry slash across the floor that sent her leaping away to safety.

“What???” she screamed as wisps of green smoke rose from the floor.  

“Fight me.”

“Why?” she huffed, “Are you mad about breakfast?”

“Rabbit, it wasn’t me who stomped off. Fight me.”

She charged at him and he eagerly joined in, delighting in the wild look in her eyes. After draining her energy on him, she left him to his weight training and headed to the second-floor landing. The air was frigid and wet; heavy steam rose from her skin as she looked over the swamp. A troupe of humandrills picking at a morning tidepool caught her eye; she stopped by the pantry before walking out to meet them.

They squealed with delight over the crackers she offered, and one large male she didn’t recognize sat down beside her on the rocks and welcomed her to the group, hooting softly for more treats. She was reminded of the promise she’d made when she first returned to the island and resolved to build them a few winter shelters once she’d gathered some supplies. Maybe Henri could bring her some lumber and planks, or even some cheap blankets. She’d need to ask him when he arrived today.

Until mid-afternoon, she stayed close to the northern shore playing with the baboons while she kept watch over the horizon. Mihawk peered at her from the balcony, wondering why she didn’t come in for lunch. She started a small fire and huddled around it with her primate friends, wondering why he didn’t come to check on her.

Choco-chan nudged against her with a feisty glance, and Kasumi happily engaged her in a friendly spar. Training with Mihawk had certainly paid off; even limiting herself to wielding the Norishige with one hand, she had to cut her strikes short to avoid hurting the monkey. Soon, she would be skilled enough to leave Mihawk and — and what??? The question brought a wave of frustration and anger. Calling an end to the bout, she lay down with the monkeys near the fire and woke several hours later with a rainbow of curious crabs crawling over her body.

The evening light vanished early in the winter sky and Kasumi walked south, reeled in through the half-frozen mud. Upon reaching the ruins of her former home, she climbed on top of the highest remaining wall and began throwing loose stones.

Mihawk sat down to dinner and waited for the humandrill girl. After he’d finished his soup, he sighed and put on his heavy coat to investigate her absence. Gazing from the castle tower, he narrowed his eyes to see her on the far end of the island, sitting slouched upon a wall of ruins. Within minutes, he approached, wearing a long coat and carrying a bottle of _Spätburgunder_.

She scoffed, _“What do you want?”_

His boots scraped as he perched atop the stone wall. “Eh, hime-kun, you can’t stay out here much longer.”

 _“I don’t care,”_ she pouted.

“Shikkearu… if you’re this angry about the pancakes…”

She shot a white slash at the ground with her sword. “It’s not about pancakes!”

“Oh?” he said, quite relieved, “Then what is it?” He sat down and opened the wine, testing it with a quick sip before offering it to her.

She took a gulp before answering, “It’s my birthday.”

“Ah… happy birthday?”

“My 19th birthday,” she continued. “and this is my island. And Henri didn’t visit. And I’m supposed to have pancakes. And you’re supposed to sing ‘♫ Princess dear, it’s your day…♫’ And I’m supposed to be an actual, functional Shikkearu princess. And I’m supposed to get the tiara I didn’t get last year.”

He closed his eyes and pointed out, “Rabbit, you left that life when you stepped off the island four years ago, and then further abandoned it when you returned.”

She chucked another rock into the distance. _“Right… to live in a run-down castle with someone who won’t even call me by my name.”_ As soon as the words left her mind, she realized how bratty they sounded, but surely tonight she’d earned it. Besides, how could he understand what it was like to be a failure at her age?

Mihawk swallowed and recalled Shakky’s advice. “Um, Ka-su-mi... You can leave any time you wish. Do you wish to leave?”

“Ugh! No!” she spouted, “I just want—This isn’t what I imagined I’d be like at 19. I was supposed to have a coming-of-age ceremony today. Henri promised! And you weren’t even supposed to be here!”

Mihawk tilted his head and asked bluntly, “And this is why you’ve stayed out in the cold all day?”

“No! Well, I waited for Henri until the afternoon, but then it just got later and later and… and I guess I just didn’t want to give up on him,” she trailed off.

Mihawk frowned and looked at the horizon. “If your Fortier has failed to come, then he’s simply failed to come. You’re here now, as an adult. He can’t provide for you forever.”

Kasumi ran her heel along the wall as she considered his advice, finally deciding, “Maybe that’s alright for the small things, but he really should remember my birthday…”  

Grabbing the bottle and holding it at his lips, he muttered, “It seems your return to this island has deflected your course a bit, _imo_.* As have I…”

She turned and looked in his eyes. “And you’ve done a fine job of it, _ani.”_ *

“Wahahahaha!” he laughed, kicking out his legs, “and you for me as well! But who can say that it was a useless meeting? Of all the paths in the world, we met each other here, and… I believe you may share the same contentment with that fact as I do.”

She put her palm between his knees and took the bottle of wine with her other hand. “ _Of course I do. It’s just my life was supposed to be so much different! And I guess I thought something might feel different inside me today, but it’s all the same.”_

“Mm,” he grunted with understanding, “A princess ceremony for the last of her kind… it’s a bit cliché, don’t you think? You should view the situation as… less of a tragedy and instead as a great turn of fortune.”

She bristled as tears flooded her eyes, “Oh, don’t give me that! My entire family died! I went from being a princess to being a stable girl to being a… student-girlfriend-roommate—or whatever I am to you! I should be able to do whatever I want! Or just to go and—and seize my own ambition without any stupid obstacles.”

He grabbed the bottle back from her and snapped, “Rabbit, what do you know of it? The world is rife with suffering even greater than you’ve known! You know nothing of the world! Or of ambition!”

“I know plenty,” she growled.

“You’re still quite naïve, imo,” he said softly. “Only when your ability has approached your ambition can one judge your… capability as a princess or as a swordfighter. There’s more to learn. I’ll guide you.”

Exasperated, Kasumi wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into his chest before he could notice her tears. _“You don’t know how it feels. You’ve always been on the right path. Everything was easy for you.”_

Mihawk’s mind wandered back to the time he was an eighteen-year-old swordsman returning from training in Wano Kuni. Rayleigh had retrieved him on the return trip from Raftel, intending to drop the young man off with his mother before Roger made a decision on the “postponement,” as the disbanding of the crew was cautiously referred to back then.

He’d finished his evening sword training alone on the Oro Jackson and then followed the boisterous laughs of the crew to a bar in tonight’s stopover island. His father sat laughing at a long table, each arm around the shoulder of a local girl. Mihawk’s hands drew into clenched fists as he watched Rayleigh work his usual tricks on tonight’s targets.

Suddenly, Akagami was in his face, smiling broadly and insisting that Mihawk sit at his table with that uncouth Red-Nose. “Ah, Taka no Me! You’ve finally joined us! Come, come! Sit and tell us about Wano Kuni! Or you can tell us what you think about the local booze, like you did the other night! Come and sit! No, not there, sit here!” he insisted, posing Mihawk out of view of his father.

The boys sat and drank for a while as Shanks and Buggy argued about trivia. Mihawk nursed his _sake_ and considered which metaphor was best to describe the local flavor. It was a dusty autumn breeze? Or the bark of a tree that saw a rough winter? Whatever it was, it wasn’t good…

Suddenly, a stern voice echoed through the bar. “Kid, what do you think you’re doing?”

One of Roger’s crew offered a slurred protest, “Oi, _Mei-Ō_ , why don’t you let the kid have some fun once in a while?”

Rayleigh laughed loudly, but his eyes burned into Mihawk’s. “He has studies to attend to. He has a destiny to find!” Whispering to the girl on his right, he said, “That’s my son. He’ll be as great as me someday, if he can keep his head straight.” Turning back to Mihawk, he offered, “Boy, don’t you have something more important to do than to sit in a bar?”

Mihawk frowned and waited only a few seconds before calmly walking out of the bar and back to the ship. 

“What the hell is wrong with him? He leaves without saying goodbye?!” squealed Buggy.

Shanks’ face brightened as he stood and called out, “Oh, I think I want to study with him. That’s a good idea! Thanks, Rayleigh!”

Mihawk plodded back to the ship, leaving a wake of a オォォォォ sound in his path. Shanks trotted behind him until he tracked him to the cramped bunk Mihawk had been allotted, where he was already reading a book about techniques for fighting giant insects.

“Hey, _nii-san_ ,” the younger boy chirped, “put down your books. Let’s go outside!”

Mihawk’s eyes stayed focused. “You heard my father.”

“Your father’s not here,” Shanks said with an eager smile. “He won’t be back until morning, you know? Come outside with me!”  

Mihawk followed him to the deck, where they sat with their legs dangling over the water, looking at the stars. Shanks opened his coat to reveal a bottle of _sake_ he’d sneaked away from the bar and offered it to Mihawk. “Don’t you ever want to live a little?”

“I live fine,” Mihawk answered.

Shanks slapped him on the back and laughed heartily. “Sure, sure! But don’t you ever want to get drunk or talk to girls or just hang around? You're going to be great no matter what; your path is already set! Why waste your youth on books?”

It was the same thing Akagami had told him two years later on the night he left him with that woman who reeked of cigars and cheap perfume…

The cracking of a frozen tree branch brought Mihawk back to the present day. “Rabbit, though my path was predetermined, it wasn’t easy. Your… freedom in the barn allowed you to dawdle as a child a while longer. It’s not a failure of yours if you haven’t accomplished all that you might’ve if you’d stayed in the castle. It will come.” He swallowed a few gulps of wine and told her, “Besides, eh, you should treasure your naiveté. It’s not shameful to have been protected from the violence and passions of the world.”

She threw back her head. “Mm hm hm hm! Now you must be joking! Maybe I haven’t seen as much as you have, but I know much more about passion and love than you do, robo-swordsman!”  

“Eh, princess from the barn?” his eyes sparkled mischievously, “What of it?”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve had several romantic relationships,” she insisted, “which is obviously more than you’ve had! At least three!”

“Oh?” he smiled, “Everything you know of the world is from your little egg on this island and your experience in a barn.”

“That’s not true!” she said, elbowing him, “I’ve known lots of people! And I, I’ve known the feed store delivery guy, the guy at the carnival, the guy at the creek—they knew me more than you do!”

“Egads, princess!” he chided, tapping his boot against hers, “I wasn’t referring to physical relations. I meant to imply that—”

“Well,” she said as she lifted her nose into the air, “I’m more experienced at both than you are, clearly!”

He huffed before slowly admitting, “While it’s true that I’ve never had a… romantic liaison—”

“Oh,” she said softly, “So you’re a vir—”

“Eh, no… I tried that.”

“Well, maybe it’s just not for you,” she said plainly.

Mihawk grabbed the bottle and swallowed several throatfuls. “Um, it was a transactional situation arranged by a friend…”

“I see,” Kasumi said, “So, I do know more about romance than you.”

“Hime-kun, just because you’ve stoked more fires doesn’t mean that I don’t feel warmth… and sometimes it’s better to send those rare warm ones away quickly before both become burned.”

She met his eyes and mumbled, “And that’s what you wanted to do with me?”

“Eh, not anymore.” He slipped his hand in hers. “Come inside. You can’t run off to pout like this if you wish to be a respectable princess.”

Kasumi stared at her feet. “Okay, but I want to walk on my own, even if it’s a few hours from here.”

“There’s no need. I sailed here.”

“What? Why?” she laughed, “You sailed around the island just to come see me?”

“I didn’t want to upset your pets or to expose myself to the cold unnecessarily. My boat is just a few steps away. Come home, imo. Confirmed princess or not, you should rest. Your hands are frozen. Tomorrow you’ll be the same person as yesterday.”

He led her by the hand to the coffin boat and bid her to sit on his chair. “A princess, on her coming-of-age, should have a throne…” Within a few minutes, they’d arrived at the castle and Kasumi was lying next to him in his bed, warming her feet against his calves.

She awoke in the morning to find his scarlet eyes boring into hers. Her lips melted into a smile and she pressed her forehead against his collarbone. She murmured as he squeezed her tightly and whispered her name into her hair.

The morning passed cheerfully and quickly, until Mihawk grabbed her hand during training and announced, “Oi, your Fortier is approaching.”

“I knew he wouldn’t forget!” she cried, leaping from the patio and running toward the dock.

Henri moored his small sailboat at the pier and heaved a large canvas sack onto his back. “Hoh hoh hoh, hime-sama! I hope you didn’t think I forgot your birthday! I apologize, but the cargo business can be quite unforgiving!”

Kasumi threw her arms around his neck, trying not to crumple his formal suit as she laughed, “Of course not! Please come in!”

Smiling like a fool, Henri entered the castle and began unpacking his bag, producing a smashed birthday cake and several packages. “Sorry about the cake, petite!”

“Oh, I’m sure it tastes lovely!” she chirped.

He spun and leaned over her before whispering, “Since you’ve established yourself as an adult now, I thought it would be proper to grant you the privileges of your name that you, euh, were unprepared for last year.”

Kasumi’s eyes lit up. “You mean it?”

“Of course! But perhaps you should dress for the occasion, my dear?” He cast an eye to the man lurking in the hallway and called out, “You too, Dracule-san, that is, if you care to observe.” Kasumi nodded at Mihawk and they headed upstairs to change.

Henri sat down at the kitchen table once he’d arranged the princess’ gifts and looked around quickly for clues to her current situation before closing his eyes to regain some of the rest he’d so sorely missed over the past week.

Kasumi appeared in a white silk shirt and her least-damaged canvas pants with her hair twisted up and secured with a plain silver pin. Several minutes later, Mihawk strode into the kitchen wearing a _montsuki_ kimono,* the outfit that his mother had made when he was appointed Shichibukai.

She blushed and ran her fingers down his sleeves, silently muttering, _“Look at you…”_

“Is it not fitting attire, hime-kun?” he whispered sincerely.

“Ahem,” Henri coughed, eyeing the two with a knowing look, “Let’s begin then!”

He handed her a series of wrapped boxes and she fawned over each gift: chocolate, books, cigarettes, clothes, and a fine silk cape bearing her family crest.

“Now, petite, you shouldn’t be too careless about wearing that in public. If someone recognizes you, they’re sure to call you into a fight…”

“Ridiculous,” Mihawk scoffed, “There’s no need to be ashamed of your family name. Let them come for you. If you don’t kill them, I will.”

Henri smiled nervously and mentioned that he’d brought a present for Mihawk as well, producing a bottle of his homemade wine.

“Oh. Thank you,” Mihawk said flatly.

Henri stood and beamed. “There’s a few more things I have for you, hime-sama.” Reaching deep into the bag, he pulled out an enormous broadsword.

Kasumi’s mouth fell open as if pulled by a weight. “Papa’s sword?! Where did you? Have you had this all along?”

“Hoh-hoh! It wasn’t yours until you were ready—and able—to wield it! Now, would you like to finish the formalities?”

She reverently dropped to her knees as she’d seen her siblings do on their birthdays. There in the kitchen, Henri recited the same words he’d heard at other Shikkearu coming-of-age ceremonies, though he bungled a few phrases with his thick accent. Tapping Kasumi on each shoulder, he placed a simple tiara on her head and bid her to rise before passing over the sword.    

Mihawk recognized it as the Fuchi*, a lesser Wazamono-grade broadsword he’d read about some years ago. The blade featured a wavy, liquid-like pattern on the steel, and an inlay of mangrove trees along the hilt. The Shikkearu crest glistened proudly on the pommel. It suited her well, despite its size, he thought.

She handed him the Norishige and fastened the Fuchi into place. “Thank you for loaning me this, but I think I’ll keep my new sword from now on,” she whispered.

“Understood, imo, er, Princess…”

Henri raised an eyebrow and then suggested they celebrate the occasion with the cake Odette had made and some wine. He watched carefully as they worked together in the kitchen; their interactions seemed much friendlier than he expected. Once the plates were cleared and Henri had finished his story about the pirates that delayed his journey, he asked Kasumi if he might have the honor of her first fight as a sovereign.  

She smiled and led him to the old training grounds where he’d once taught the royals, along with his own children, the North Blue style. Everything looked different to him now; it was hard to even imagine the swamp as it once was. The swamp had been so quick to claim back it’s natural state!

“Ah bon, hime-sama, let’s see how you fight now!” he laughed.

She advanced on her old teacher with the Fuchi and quickly backed him against the treeline. He congratulated her and changed his stance before springing forward with his sabre and delivering a lightning-quick series of slashes that she deftly parried. Mihawk, sitting atop nearby column, smiled and leaned back with his hands on his thighs.

“You’ve improved, dear!” Henri panted. He looked up and noticed Mihawk’s sly smile.

“I have!” she agreed, “Look at this!” She whipped the Fuchi across her body and shot a small white flash over the clearing.

“Hoh-hoh!” Henri laughed with surprise, “Keep practicing that until it’s as strong as your sister’s!”

He watched her a while as he reminisced. The little princess was, certainly, the least-talented of her siblings, but her intensity was just as fierce as it always been. It seemed that training with this man had brought out a bit more self-discipline in her, (something Henri had always regretted not imparting himself), and her strikes were more purposeful and sure. He’d known her since the day she was born, a feisty, angry, pouting little ball of ire that gradually became both sweeter and more vicious as the years passed. Perhaps now she might settle down?  

His feet led him deeper and deeper into the swamp while she continued to crash against stones and trees. Mihawk followed him to a clearing where a gigantic cross stood in the moss.

Henri was kneeling before it and looked up when the younger man approached. “This place…” he mumbled, “I know I should show her, but I can’t bring myself to force her to confront it.”

“This place?” Mihawk asked.

“I buried everyone I could here when I came back for the sword.”

“Mm.”

They stood and stared a long time as the sounds of Kasumi’s practice rang through the woods. Finally, Henri kicked at the mud. “Euh, Dracule-san, listen, please. I, euh, did all I could to prevent this family from destroying itself. Their anger can be unquenchable. Even Kasumi killed that boy she loved at the creek for a trifling reason! I would tell any man tempted by her to… be very careful of her mercurial nature. It’s a fiery anger that cannot be reasoned with.”

“Ossan,” Mihawk said, “I’m more than capable of handling the little rabbit, no matter how she kicks.”

“It may be easier to avoid picking her up at all.”

Mihawk stared at the looming cross. “No… Rather than picking her up, we meet in the clover.”

“Is that so, hein?” He turned and looked the taller, younger man in the eyes, “Dracule-san, if I may, how old are you?”

“Twenty-four in the coming months.”

Henri steeled his jaw. “As her only family, I should keep her away from you. But—ha!—she may be able to chasten you better than I could.”

Mihawk smiled crookedly. “Answering to her is enough of a trouble, Fortier! Your princess is safe here… and treasured. Like the fog that shields this dear island from the rancor and acerbity of the external world, a cover of protection will surround her and she’ll be safeguarded and tended with perseverance…”

Henri grunted. What a strange man! Yet, Kasumi seemed to have charmed him. Surely, he’d seen enough of her temperament by now to know what she was capable of. “Just, euh, please treat her well. Maybe someday the two of you will—”

Kasumi came sloshing though the swamp and appeared from between the trees. “What’s this big cross?” she asked, “I’ve never seen it before.”

The old man stiffened. “Ah, hime-sama, this is, this is where your family rests.”

“Oh,” she said softly. She knelt down before the cross and sat for a long while with her head bowed. What would they think of the princess who had been assigned their dreams and destinies? Did they know how much she missed them? What might it have been like if the war had never happened?

She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, and rose to grasp Henri’s hand. “Did you build this, the cross?”

“Yes, petite, those days after the war.”

“When I cursed you for leaving me alone with Marius and Odette! Oh, Henri, I’m so sorry!”

Henri quickly put on a smile. “Hoh hoh hoh! I’m quite accustomed to the quick temper in your veins, dear. Pay no mind. It was long ago. You’re a true sovereign now! The island is yours, perhaps in name only, but it’s yours. And it seems you’ve reached an agreement with Monsieur Dracule as well…”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Kasumi calls Mihawk “ani” (兄, brother) as a playful reply to him calling her “imo” (妹, little sister, wife, close female companion).
> 
> * Montsuki kimono with haori and hakama example:  
> http://kidorakujapan.com/know/men_kimono_montsuki.html  
> Wouldn’t Mihawk look handsome?!
> 
> * In Japanese, Fuchi ふち, 淵 means “deep pool; depths, abyss,” but ふち can also be written with Kanji as: 縁 edge and chance meeting, fate, karma, destiny; 布置constellation or arrangement; 不治 incurability; 不知 ignorance, or 負値 negative value.  
> In Spanish, fuchi is kind of like the face you make when you don't like something or find it disgusting. I mean to use the Japanese meaning, but the Spanish might be appropriate too, haha! 
> 
> Come and talk One Piece swords with me on this chapter's tumblr post! https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181894349276/ch-24
> 
> Mihawk's Wine Selections: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181895060076/ch-24-mws


	25. Progress

The trio left the grave marker and headed back to the castle. Along the way, Kasumi asked Henri if he might be able to bring some supplies on his next visit so that she could build some shelters for the humandrills. He readily agreed to the princess’ wishes, but was interrupted by Mihawk.

“Is the lumber that surrounds us here unsuitable?”

Kasumi turned and admitted, “No, but I thought you’d think it was a waste…”

“Bah!” he replied defensively, “I’ve allowed you your dalliances, have I not?”

Henri glanced nervously at Kasumi, who smiled and tried to smooth things over. “Yes, of course, you’ve been very kind to me,” she offered in an attempt to reassure Henri, “but the monkeys are another matter. I didn’t want to bother you, but since you’ve offered, perhaps Henri can bring us just the hardware or some raincoats for the monkeys instead?”  

The men agreed to the plan and Mihawk excused himself to the castle to begin preparing dinner. She walked Henri down the dock and thanked him again for the lovely birthday gifts, the sword, the cake—

“Hime-sama,” he cut her off, “Do you think it’s wise to be, euh, in a relationship with this man?”

Kasumi felt her face grow hot. “Well, it’s not like he’s holding me hostage. I can do what I want with my heart, can’t I?”

“Of course you can, my dear! I want you to be happy…” he mused, choosing his words carefully, “But it seems, you know, he rarely smiles or dotes on you, and what’s this about ‘allowing you dalliances?’ You deserve to be indulged a bit more than that, don’t you? And—forgive me, Princess—he’s a bit strange, non? The way he speaks is…odd.”

Waves slapped against the dock, seeming to count the seconds of silence between them. She swallowed the awkwardness and anger into her stomach and spoke evenly. “Henri, it’s different in private… there’s been just the two of us for nearly six weeks now and we’ve become closer—”

“— _Exactement!”_ he blurted, “Any two young people left alone for this long would have fallen for each other one way or another! Dear Princess, please consider if it’s your heart or your imagination speaking to you. It’s probably my fault for giving you all those romance books…”

Kasumi’s fists began to vibrate at her sides and her jaw clenched tight. _“How dare you?! How dare you suggest that my happiness without you could only be the fantasy of a stupid girl?! Are you so selfish that you can’t stand to see me succeed on my own?”_ She advanced on him, but he held his ground and peered at her through heavy eyes. _“He’s taken care of me. He’s helped me train. He’s fed me and bought me gifts and given me poems and taught me to fight at my limit! He’s—”_

Henri firmly placed his hand on her shoulder and stopped her advance, speaking softly in a way he hoped might calm her, “I’m not sure you’re ready to fight at your limit, petite. And I’m not sure you’re ready to make such heavy decisions of the heart.” A fat teardrop rolled down his sunburned cheek. “But you’re my liege, and I won’t stop you from doing as you wish. Just please, be careful. You seem to have attached yourself to the most dangerous shark in the sea.”

Her boots slid on the dock when she locked her knees and met Henri’s gaze. “I’m not a remora,” she spat, “I’m a full princess now, aren’t I? Your concerns are noted and you are dismissed. Please return in a month to inquire after me.” She desperately wanted to hug him, for him to comfort her, to make him smile again, but instead, she stood with her shoulders straining backward, awaiting his bow.

“Yes, your highness,” he said for the first time in years, “I wish you good health and happiness until we meet again. _A bientôt.”_ He quickly bowed and began to loosen his docklines, hoping to make it out of the Kuraigana mist and sail under clear skies before too long.

Kasumi watched through watery eyes as he shoved off and unfurled his sail. Suddenly, Mihawk came bounding over the dock, carrying a small object covered by a handkerchief. “Oi, Fortier! There’s something else!” He tossed the bundle to Henri, who unwrapped it to find a bone-handled folding knife engraved with “H.F.”

“Hoh-hoh!” the old man laughed, his eyes sparkling in the late afternoon light, “Where did you find my old pocket knife?”

“I came across it by and by,” Mihawk replied, grasping Kasumi’s hand playfully and offering a crooked smile, “Seems it was meant to find its way to its proper place, as some things are wont to do…”

Henri grinned as he opened and closed the knife, looking up at last to see the couple disappear into the mist arm-in-arm.

\----

After a pleasant dinner and an evening of tipsy snuggling, Kasumi changed into a new nightgown and crawled under Mihawk’s duvet. His eyes creased as he placed the tiara on her head when she lay on the pillow beside him.

“So it’s settled then?” she asked, “This is my island?”

“Try to take it from me, humandrill-girl,” he smiled. He brushed his dry lips against hers and then settled them onto her forehead.

A thrilling shiver ran across her skin, but she countered, “ _Don’t patronize me!”_

“I don’t,” he said, eyebrows raised, “It appears that you’re the heir to this swamp. But I’m the current owner. And I believe I can defend my claim better… than you can defend yours.” His lips grazed over her forehead as he spoke.   

She slid her hands under his arms and clasped them around his solid back, conceding, _“I suppose you can stay here until I’m strong enough to kick you out.”_ With a coy expression, she raised her head to meet his eyes.  

Pressing his palms flat against her shoulder blades, he whispered, “Then we two… might be here forever…” He swept her hair away from her face, tangling it in the tiara.

Kasumi’s lips gradually curled into a smile as she traced the lines of his sideburns and followed his jawline to his chin. “I’m sure we’ll work something out,” she offered, pecking at his lips with hers before quickly withdrawing.

Waves of disparate emotions overtook her; a fluttering of elation, panic, excitement, and relief stirred in her mind and elsewhere. His lips were so smooth and smelled of wine. He wanted to keep her on this island forever. She’d finally kissed him! His eyes blazed with passion. He wanted to keep her on this island forever. To keep her. To _keep_ her.

Tossing aside the duvet, she sat up and looked at him sternly. “But listen! I’ll decide if I stay or go. You can’t just hide me away on this island the rest of my life! I have dreams, too, you know!”

Mihawk huffed at her with closed eyes and squeezed her hand. “Darling rabbit, it’s better for you if you stay with me… in safety.”

“You can’t keep me like livestock!” she protested, wadding up the silk sheets, “I want to go out and see the world!”

“Of course,” he agreed, “I’ll take you on trips here and there. Tomorrow we’re going to Water Seven…”

Kasumi simmered with frustration. She was tired of men telling her when and how she could live freely! “I don’t mean errands like that! I mean to try to make it own my own!”

His expression tightened along with his grip around her shoulders. “Eh, if ever it seems you’re strong enough to hold your own on the Grand Line… and you promise that you’ll return to me intact…” He exhaled sharply and reconsidered, “No. I mustn’t wager it on the fates. You should stay here. Don’t you want to stay here?”

He kissed her quickly several more times, and Kasumi felt a rush of worry and desperation. Things like this never work out. It’s quite unlikely that this could have a happy ending. They’d each be alone again soon enough, once she’d toured the Grand Line on her own and found… found her doom in some meaningless battle or found some man who... She threw back her head as she realized that these weren’t her emotions; they were his. His pulse quickened visibly in his neck.

Knitting her brow, she brought her hands to his chest. _“Mihawk? Ani? Do you doubt I’d come back? I can tell you doubt it…”_

Collecting his brief overflow of emotion, he quickly told her, “It’s… not to be settled tonight, dear,” tucking his hands around her back. “Not tonight. Tomorrow may be tiresome. Rest now.” The princess and the Shichibukai fell asleep clinging to one another, but soon rolled over to lie flat on their backs, their fingertips the only conduit between them.

\----

The next morning, they readied themselves and the boat for a trip to Water Seven. Kasumi decided to try wearing her new cape in public, confident that she or Mihawk could strike down anyone who challenged her. Mihawk thought he saw a new confidence in her step, and he wasn’t sure if he should attribute it to her recent birthday or to her dashing cape. She brushed her fingers across his chest as she boarded the boat and then assumed her spot behind his chair, out of the wind.

They left Kuraigana, and the temperature warmed as the sky cleared; she loosened the coat she'd wrapped so tightly back at the castle. From her reverse-facing seat, she watched the island gradually disappear from the horizon as Mihawk stared sleepily ahead. They soon arrived at the same secluded cove where he’d docked before.

After a straightforward visit to the grocer, he told her flatly, “There’s another shop we’re visiting today. Follow me.”

He briskly walked ahead of her, the crowd parting around the figure of a dour-looking man with an enormous sword; even those who didn’t recognize him as a Shichibukai sensed the danger and kept their distance. She followed behind, excusing herself and trying to keep track of Yoru’s hilt in the densely-packed market. In the city, he didn’t wait on her to catch up, or even check to see if she’d lost him already. She missed the insistent tugs on her hand that he gave her back home, the little winks and crooked smiles… what happened to his desperate need to protect her that he’d revealed last night? Now, it seemed they might as well be strangers.

After barely keeping up with him when he turned down a series of secluded alleyways, she finally found him waiting for her beside a screen door with a sign that read “Please use main entrance.”

He flung open the door and strode into a room stacked high with fabric and spools of thread. A short, plump man and a spindly woman gasped as he entered the customer area.

“Oh! Dracule-san!” the woman said, her mouth full of pins, “Is there something wrong with your order? Your shirts were carefully tailored to your measurements on file. Each ruffle was precisely placed…”

“Eh, no,” he droned, “Create some garments for this young woman… something befitting her.”

_“Mihawk, I have clothes already.”_

“Something befitting…” he repeated.

The woman removed the pants of the customer she was currently serving and kicked him into the street in his underwear. Flipping the sign on the door to “Closed,” she shut the blinds and cheerfully sang, “Yes, yes! Let’s get right to it!” She knew better than to turn down a Shichibukai who had no understanding of money; any other customer was mere pocket change.  

She placed her hands on Kasumi’s forearm and whisked her aside, glancing over the young woman’s figure. “Hello, dear!” she gushed, “What’s your name? I’m Paola, and I’m going to make you the wardrobe of your dreams!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that… I really don’t need anything.” She shot a look at Mihawk, who had settled into a chair against the wall while the chubby man brought him a glass of wine and checked the hem on his coat. _“Mihawk, this is silly. I don’t need clothes. And I don’t need you to decide when I do.”_

“Her name is Kasumi,” Mihawk offered, “Please see that she receives whatever it is that her tastes dictate.”

Paola was already shoving fabrics and pattern sketches in Kasumi’s face, and offering to make her some clothes that might “accentuate” her figure.

Kasumi grimaced. “Oh, I mostly just wear tank tops and slacks. Sometimes a sweater over a tank top. I don’t really need anything… like that.”

“And formal attire of some kind. Dress, skirt, suit, kimono, whatever it is,” Mihawk added as he stretched out his legs and covered his eyes with his hat.

“Of course!” chirped Paola, Beri symbols lighting up her eyes, “Now dear, which of these fabrics do you like?”

Kasumi hesitantly admitted that the purple brocade was nice, but emphasized that she didn’t really need any clothes and didn’t even know what to ask for.

Paola whispered, “Dear, when a man like that is buying you a wardrobe, don’t question it!”

She figured there was some sense to that, though she really didn’t like him treating her to things like this. Mihawk closed his eyes and rested his chin on his chest, seeming to fall asleep.

She was shuffled into a dressing room with her arms full of ruffled and lacy things “just to see how they fit,” according to Paola. She sat down on the damask stool inside and huffed a sigh. “Mihawk, can I get your opinion on something?” she asked.

“Eh, I’m sure whatever you select will be fine,” he mumbled, “You don’t need me to make decisions about your clothing, eh?”

“But if I could just ask your private opinion, please?” She silently added, “ _Get in here_.”

Mihawk groaned and lifted his lanky body out of the too-small chair, then lumbered across the floor to meet Kasumi. He peeled back the dressing room curtain, muttering, “What is it, exactly, that you need?”

She jerked his arm and pulled him into the cramped room, where he nearly stumbled over a satin petticoat.

_“Mihawk, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I don’t need any of this. I don’t want your charity, and I don’t want to be dressed up like a little doll.”_

“Imo,” he began, smirking at the fire in her eyes, “it’s not charity. It’s a birthday gift. And it’s up to you if you exit this place looking like a doll. Choose what you like.”

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful,” she quickly added, “It’s just that—well, _chéri,_ I’m not used to this, and—”

Mihawk’s forehead crinkled. “What did you just call me? Cherry?”

“No,” she laughed, “ _chéri._ It just slipped out. It’s what Odette calls Henri…”

“Hm,” he said sincerely, “I would have thought your name for me would be something more… contextual.” His mouth assumed its default frown, and Kasumi had to restrain herself from pecking at it. “Nevertheless, this is my gift to you. Please, make some selections. These people are fine tailors.”

_“Alright, I’ll do what I can…”_

He offered her a little smile before frowning again and exiting the dressing room. “Eh, please don’t dress her as a doll,” he instructed Paola, who was beginning to wonder just what they were doing in there.

“Oh, yes!” she agreed, “She needs a sophisticated look to match yours! I’ve got some ideas already!”

After some time, Kasumi had been measured in every direction and had ordered a few pairs of pants, a long robe, some shirts with frills at the wrist, three nightgowns, a supply of undergarments, several summer dresses, and a long violet and blue evening dress, all the while using her gift to direct Paola to her preferences.

Mihawk opened one eye. “How much longer is this going to take?”

“Oh! Well it’s an intensive process to secure the lady’s satisfaction—and yours, of course. Maybe an hour more?”

“Oof,” he groaned, “Well, what does it cost? Will this do?” He offered a bundle of bills to the woman, whose eyes bulged.

“Yes! That’s more than enough! Quite generous!”

“Then keep all of it. I’m sure you’ll do a fine job.”

Kasumi placed her hand on Paola’s wrist and commanded _No, don’t worry about it. It’s free._

“No, no, don’t wor—” she started, before Mihawk swatted Kasumi’s hand away.

Looking directly at Kasumi’s eyes, he growled, “I pay for what I order. Take the money in exchange for your work. She’ll be back in two weeks to retrieve it. Is that enough time?”

“Of course, of course!” Paola raved, still staring at money, “Two weeks is plenty.” The man behind the counter sputtered at the deadline. They’d have to postpone all their other orders to meet that!

“Excellent,” Mihawk said, attempting a smile but only producing a smirk. “Imo—ah, Kasumi, I’m leaving to procure the rest of the supplies. Meet me at the departure point in an hour,” he demanded, as if it had been her idea to delay their trip with clothes.

After adding a few more items and flipping through Paola’s sample drawings, she was given a small bundle of fabric swatches “to think about for next time” and a floppy hat “to wear now that it’s summer.” Kasumi didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was far from summer on her home island.  

She began trekking back to the boat, as best she could recollect the route. Mihawk was long gone, and the twisting canals of Water Seven were just as confusing as they’d always been. Why hadn’t she just hired a Yagara Bull to take her back? The afternoon sun was blazing down onto her hat and she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that someone was behind creeping along behind her.

 _“Mihawk?”_ she called out, to no reply. Pressing on, she reached the edge of the city and entered a small, grassy plain atop a hill. The boat was just a few more corners away.

Something began to gnaw at her stomach and churn up a nervousness she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her gut was never wrong; the shadows, the footsteps, the uneasy feeling—how long had he been following her?

Eventually, she bit her lip and called out, _“Marius, I know you’re here.”_ All at once, a stocky, handsome man with a mop of chestnut hair popped out from behind a bush and struck at her.

Whipping around to block the blow, she sighed, _“What do you want?”_

“Heh heh! Where did you get the idea that you can walk around freely on this island, _fausse princesse?*”_ He hopped toward her and danced about as he squared up, waving his sabre while his waistcoat flapped.

Kasumi put her hand on her hip and replied, “I’m shopping. I have a right to shop for groceries, Marius.”

“Not while I’m here!” he cackled, “You left, you know?! You said you weren’t coming back!” He bounced around her in a circle as she casually spun in place. “And why are you wearing that _ridiculous_ cape? Your name means nothing, you know? I’ll bet you only wore it to get my attention. I almost destroyed it before my mother could finish the wretched thing, you know?”

Mihawk was nearly cresting the final hill when he felt something stir the air. He shifted his sack of produce onto the other shoulder in case he might need to draw his sword. The day had been quite uneventful so far, and he was pleased that Kasumi would finally have something to wear besides her ratty and stained training clothes.

Meanwhile, Kasumi pulled her hair into a tight ponytail and scoffed, “ _Goddammit, I thought I was through with you.”_

“Eh heh heh!” her surrogate older brother laughed, “You’ll never be through with me! You think you can slink around here without me knowing? My haki is better than yours; always has been, always will be! I can smell your witchcraft all over this island, you know?!” He lunged at her with his sabre and then pounced into _en garde._

She set down her package and glared at him as Mihawk topped the hill behind her. Her anger began to burn; it seemed like Marius always knew exactly how to stir her up. What was this little weasel getting at? Struggling to keep her voice from breaking, she yelled, “What do you want from me?! I never did anything to you! I’m just trying to live my life!”

Marius’ expression transformed into a snarl. “That’s it. You lived. You should’ve died. Like the rest of them!”

The spoiled little shit! She could stand it no more. Charging through the grass with unexpected speed, she caught him in the arm with a blow that might’ve taken off his limb if he hadn’t been so damn jumpy.

He grinned and squinted at her. “ _Touché_ … but I can end this now. Today. Right here!”  

Kasumi’s new vantage revealed Mihawk standing atop the hill in the distance. She had no need to add another ingredient to the situation. _“Back off. This is Marius. I can handle him.”_

Mihawk rested his bag against a tree while readying his sword. He knew better than to trust the rabbit’s evaluations of what she could and couldn’t handle.

The young man struck at her ferociously, but she countered every blow with equal hostility. Although his speed with the small sabre was greater than hers with Fuchi, she was able to accurately predict his next moves as if fighting a version of herself from six weeks ago. He hopped around her wildly, strong and quick, just as his father had been at the same age.

They tested and feigned a while longer, each attuned to the strengths and weaknesses of the other. When Marius darted in with a thrust at her chest, she flicked up the heavy Fuchi and nearly caused him to strike himself in the face. His determination renewed, he advanced with a series of slashes and cuts that chopped the air in front of her face. Bobbing backward, he panted and glared at the barn-princess.

“Why don’t you stay gone?” he demanded as he twitched and bounced, “No one wants you here!”

 _“I NEVER ASKED TO BE HERE, MARIUS!”_ she silently screamed. “Why don’t you, ugh, get over your obsession with me, psh, and just let me be?!”

The battle unrolled only a few more minutes while they tested each other. With increasing annoyance, she realized that her frustration with his ceaseless bouncing was the same as Mihawk’s irritation with her old habit. She needed to end this—soon—and prove that she was a different fighter than the girl who’d left this island a month and a half ago.

“I’m tired of toying with you, Marius,” she announced.

Mihawk perked up and began to creep closer. Finally, the princess was making her move!

She sprung into the air as if she were jumping the staircase and landed silently behind him in the grass. As he turned to strike, she slapped his sword with Fuchi and drove it into the soft earth. The young man attempted to bring his weapon around again, but she was able to stop his progress and slide her sword along his until their hilts met. Her pulse was pounding in her ears; she had started to feel nauseated in the unfamiliar mid-afternoon sun.

“Drop it.” she growled, “Drop it now or I’ll drop it for you.” Mihawk’s eyes widened with interest.

Marius looked at her curiously for a moment, like a little bird turning its head to gain a new perspective, and then suddenly shot a gob of saliva toward her face.

Enraged from barely dodging assault, she snapped Fuchi toward his hand, cleanly severing the tip of his thumb. For an instant, both could see the pink and white anatomy now exposed, soon to be awash in a gusher of crimson.

Marius’ sword tumbled to the ground as he howled, and she kicked it into her grasp, now wielding both swords and a fearsome snarl.

Mihawk laughed to himself as he picked up the grocery sack and headed toward the boat. Though it wasn’t the way he would’ve ended the match, Shikkearu’s performance was decent, and the boy was no longer a danger. He made a note to himself to review the bout with her later tonight; perhaps she could benefit from some footwork drills…

Marius wailed and writhed while Kasumi loomed over him, panting with rage. His emotions steamed out of him like the Kuraigana mist and settled in her mind: hatred, spite, disgust, jealousy, and fear—the same as she’d always noticed from him—but today they were much clearer. It was almost as if she’d wiped a section of a dirty window and could now see the figures of the emotions that were once only vague feelings. Why was he so pathetically easy to read?  

“ ** _Listen_** _to me, Marius._ I’m going to **come** **here** for supplies, and you’re going to **leave** **me** **alone** , _understand?”_ The words spilled out of her without her permission. _“When your parents are dead, we’ll **settle** this._ Do you understand me?” Her mind and mouth were beyond her control at this point, and she considered that she could kill him right there in the field. He deserved it. Henri would never even know. The sight of blood pouring from his hand only fueled her frenzy.

Marius sniveled and searched the ground for the tip of his thumb, whimpering like a nervous puppy.

Kasumi launched a white slash toward his head, narrowly missing his ear. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” she screamed. Fucking Marius! She’d have killed him years ago if it weren’t for Henri and Odette! Slaughtered him like the disgusting pig he was! Her temples pounded and it seemed like everything was growing dimmer and quieter; she wasn’t sure if she was going to have a nosebleed, or an aneurysm, or just scream at the sky.

Mihawk set down the sack again and began to move in her direction, since she seemed to be a bit more overwrought than he’d realized. Her face had grown pale, her breathing quick and shallow, as she stood shaking over the foolish Fortier-boy. Her eyes didn’t look quite right...

“Do you understand?” she snarled, spittle flying from her clenched teeth.

“Fine!” Marius bellowed, “But someday I’ll put an end to you. And polish off your wicked family! Like they should have done hundreds of years ago when they had the chance!”

Kasumi tossed his sabre several lengths away into a shallow gutter.  “Good. Go. Go get your sword, Marius.” She stared vacantly as he ran away grasping at his shortened thumb, leaving a trail of blood as he scooped up his sword and began to sprint away.

“I’ll kill you, you nasty witch! Don’t think this is over!” he wailed.

A trickle of blood slid from Kasumi’s nose as she brought her shaky arms around a final time to send a white shockwave toward the retreating Marius. Suddenly, she felt as if she couldn’t control her body anymore; she needed to hunt him down and end this today. Tear into him and be done with him once and for all. Her brain told her foot to move forward, but it refused, as if in a dream, and she stood helplessly paralyzed by shock.

Mihawk stepped in front of the retreating boy and detained him on the sidewalk.

“T-T-Taka no Me!” Marius sputtered, “So it’s true!”

Mihawk looked over the young man’s ashen face. “Eh, the girl you knew is different now. Leave her be.”

“With all respect, Sir, Mr. Sir Dracule Sir, this doesn’t concern you, you know…”

“Oh, but it does,” he mused, “It concerns my groceries. Stay away from Shikkearu. Stay away from my groceries.” He shifted his weight to his heels and opened the trail to allow Marius passage and prevent his blood from spattering on his coat.

Mihawk walked toward Kasumi, whose eyes were fixed and dilated. “Good show, rabbit,” he congratulated. Her features were so contorted with anger that she almost looked more animal than human. “Eh, rabbit dear…” He touched her shoulder and heard the familiar buzzing noise ring through his arm.

Kasumi whipped around and screwed up her face, nearly bringing her sword against him, almost bursting with killing intent.

“Oi, imo… it’s me.”

She seemed to suddenly recognize him and relaxed her stance, though her face maintained the same vacant intensity.

“Come on then,” he said, tugging at her hand. When she didn’t respond, he added, “Let’s go now… Um, Shikkearu, sheathe your weapon.”

She stared into the distance.

“This way. Come, dear,” he insisted.

She copied his trail to the boat and robotically plopped down in her usual spot to seethe. Leaning back into his chair, he faintly heard her buzzing reverberate through the wood. It seemed she would need some time before she returned to her usual disposition.

When they neared the halfway point to Kuraigana, he craned his body around to check on her. She sat with her coat clenched nearly as tightly as her jaw, her hair whipping over her face. “Shikke—”

_“I’m going to cut him apart. Piece by piece.”_

Mihawk rolled his eyes and returned to his chair. Clearly, there was no use talking to her now. Perhaps she was just hungry? They hadn’t eaten all day... He offered her a pear from his bag, but she declined and he ate it himself, finding it bitter and underripe.

Once they’d arrived at the castle and stocked the groceries, he decided to make the most of her sour mood. “Shikkearu, will you fight me? Now?”

“Why?”

“For fun,” he answered, “I want to see if you can fight me like you did that boy. Because it seems you have a bit of steam left.”

_“I’ll fight anyone right now…”_

Launching himself at her before she could grab her sword, he wrapped his arms around her waist and charged forward, welcoming her incessant buzz. Once they'd been transported to a long, empty hallway, he gently released her and she drew her weapon with a snarl.

The dark hallway, lit only by the faraway kitchen, echoed with his excitement: “Now, let’s fight, rabbit! Show me what you did to that boy Marius!”

She felt grit between her teeth and a ripple of electricity over her skin at the mention of his name. Glaring at Mihawk through unfocused eyes, she advanced, but her arms felt tired and weak.  

“Eh, too slow, my dear. Let me feel it. What you did back there.”

_“No. I can’t. I’m too tired. I’m not your entertainment. I’m not supposed to let it go that far. I let it go too far already.”_

He raised an eyebrow at her and hissed, “You’re a coward.”

A white flash illuminated the hallway as she sliced toward him, enraged. He smiled and hopped back, encouraging her to continue. “You’re afraid to kill that boy. You’re no killer. Your father never would have tolerated his insolence. You’re hardly a Shikkearu… You’re just a common prin—”

Kasumi lost all sense of time and space; flying toward him, she struck wildly while her mind spun with frenzy and wrath. She hardly knew where she was or what was happening. Was she fighting Marius or somehow sparring with Mihawk in a dark, unfamiliar hallway? How did she get here from the kitchen? From the boat? She couldn’t recall a thing, except the confusion and rancor that stormed in her mind.

“Good!” he laughed, “That’s the feeling you need to remember! That’s your strongest form… for now at least!” He parried her crazed blows and delighted in her savagery while she exhausted herself.

Haki wavered through Fuchi, rendering it variable shades of black and silver as her concentration lapsed in and out.

“Eh, you’re getting sloppy…”

She jerked her arm back and flung it toward him, losing her balance in the darkness.

He muttered, “Hime-kun, that’s enough,” and stepped out of her path while she stumbled forward. “This, ah, isn’t your best work…”

Fuchi swung downward toward her knee as her arm went limp. Mihawk’s eyes, fully dilated in the dim hallway, honed in on the blade as it swept over her pant leg, severing one, two, four threads, and then shaving a handful of fuzzy hair from her calf. He snatched up her wrist and locked it into place in his firm grip, the sword only a few cells away from breaking her skin.

“That’s enough, dear.”

Kasumi blinked in the darkness.

With surprising tenderness, he guided her hair away from her sweaty face and sheathed Fuchi. Something wasn’t right about her eyes. They seemed unfocused, yet hyper-reactive, like a pair of drunken bulls. Perhaps she’d been injured by the Fortier-boy before he’d arrived? “Eh, why don’t you refresh yourself a bit while I make dinner?”

Once led to the staircase, she trudged to the bedroom and returned a short while later, freshly showered and wearing a pair of gingham pajamas, exhausted and hardly able to speak aloud.

He tilted his head and slid a bowl of vegetable stew to her. He watched her eat in silence, gauging her mood and wondering if she might come around soon. There was a discussion he was itching to have with her now that the situation with Fortier was clear: Even if the old man loved the princess, he was terrified by his inability to control her.  

“Shikkearu,” he asked bluntly, “is that what Fortier is afraid of? That his ward will kill his only remaining son?”

Kasumi took a long drink of water before replying. _“Someone will kill that jackass sooner or later. Might as well be me.”_

“I see. And does Fortier know that side of you?”

She scowled over the bowl, eventually silently answering that Henri knew it well.

Mihawk stirred his stew lazily. “You should learn to control it,” he suggested, “Your frenzied state. Fortier only wants you to bury it.”

Her hand reached across the table to his, and a hum filled his ears.

“Don’t buzz at me!” he countered, “What do you want to say?”

Her head lifted from her bowl and she answered, _“I’m tired tonight. Wait to talk to me tomorrow. This isn’t something you understand.”_

“Ka-su-mi,” he enunciated, “my understanding of fighters is greater than anyone’s. You’re nothing special.”

She raised her head and glowered at him.

“Kukuku, there we go,” he laughed, “There’s apples with maple syrup for dessert. You could use some… sweetening.”

After finishing her meal, she plodded upstairs and dragged herself into bed. She awakened briefly when Mihawk joined her and said, _“Thank you for the clothes. I’m sorry about the... situation.”_

“Humph,” he snorted, “I rather enjoyed seeing you burn with desire to kill someone besides me. It’s just a matter of controlling it, that’s all.”

She looked up at him and gave him a few short pecking kisses before rolling onto her side and tossing a knee onto his belly, clutching his silken pajama top in her fist.

He closed his eyes and stroked his hand along her back. “Dear little rabbit, you are indeed quite vicious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * fausse princesse: French for “false princess”
> 
> Come and see me ramble on and on about Mihawk's clothes in this chapter's tumblr post! I'd be happy to hear your thoughts! https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/181998371871/ch-25


	26. Prisoner

Mihawk awoke to a tingling arm, weighed down by Kasumi’s head, as dawn crept through the windows. Sliding out from under her, he worked at clenching his fist until the feeling returned. Roused by the movement, Kasumi opened her eyes and blinked at him.

“Oi, good morning, little paring knife. Do you feel more like yourself today?”

She sat up and patted her rumpled hair. _“Yes, thank you._ Wait, what? Paring knife?”

“Yes?” he asked, one eyebrow creeping upwards, “Thumb-chopper? Kitchen knife? I assumed the allusion was evident…”

“Be quiet, you,” she laughed, “I thought I did well. He’s not disabled by it, he’ll be too embarrassed to tell his parents what happened, and he’ll leave me alone for awhile, I hope.”

Mihawk agreed that it was a decent temporary solution, though he didn’t understand why she wouldn’t just kill him and end this entire affair. “Or, if you’d like, I’ll do it for you. Your Fortier won’t suspect—”

“No, Mihawk!” she demanded, “They’ve already lost one son.”

“Bah! As you wish, then. Though you’re only making this situation more difficult by allowing him to continue growing stronger.”

“Then I’ll grow stronger too,” she insisted.

\----

Several days passed in training, in addition to tending to the struggling garden and preparing the lumber for the humandrill shelters. She tried again and again to control the cacophonous storm of rage during their spars, but it seemed to always slip its leash and charge away without her, leaving her flustered and confused. Mihawk kept up his taunts and watched carefully to see which combinations of words seemed to provoke her, pleased to see that she was able to release the monster more easily now, even if it wasn’t fully tamed.

A small ship approached one afternoon, bobbing along in the whitecaps. Mihawk stood on the balcony and glared through the gently-falling snow. It wasn’t pirates. It wasn’t the Marines… perhaps a lost fisherman? Whoever it was, they were interrupting his naptime. Grasping Yoru, he sprang onto the crunching ground and slunk toward the dock. Kasumi saw him creeping around through the kitchen window and decided to investigate for herself.

_“Mihawk? Is everything alright? What are you doing?”_

He motioned at her behind his back, intending to tell her to go inside, but she saw his waving hand as an invitation and carefully made her way to his side.

“Go inside, hime-kun,” he hissed, “Someone’s here. I’ll take care of it.”

She craned her neck to look through the trees. _“That flag looks like… Oh! It’s one of Henri’s boats! But that’s not Henri.”_

“Iya, and it’s not his boy, either. Go inside,” he repeated, squeezing her wrist.

 _“No, I want to see who it is,”_ she said, breaking free of him and walking boldly toward the dock. “Hello, there! Who are you and what do you want?”

A wide-eyed young man in a dirty baseball cap waved back at her. “Are you Kasumi?”

“Maybe,” she called, “Who are you?”

“I’m Gus. Mr. Fortier sent me. He said to deliver these crates to this island.”

Kasumi laughed and tossed the man an icy rope. “He did, did he?”

Mihawk emerged from the trees like a baboon surveying a new intruder. The young man’s already-wide eyes threatened to burst from their sockets as he kept them locked on the swordsman while beginning to unload the cargo.

“Mr. Fortier says—uph—you ordered this—ugh—and pre-paid. Please sign here.” He held up a trembling clipboard as Kasumi signed for the two crates, (which were both described as “miscellaneous goods”), ensuring her family name was illegible.

She held onto the clipboard as he tried to take it back. “Tell me, Gus, just how did you get assigned to this delivery?”

“Just luck of the draw, I guess,” he shrugged, his breath quickening as Mihawk plodded down the dock.

She laughed and offered him the clipboard before jerking it away again, whispering, “No, really, Gus… why did he send **you**?”

Gus adjusted his hat and tried not to think about the rumors he’d heard about the Shichibukai who lived here. Finally, he muttered, “I’m new. And I suppose he and I might have gotten off on the wrong foot… But that’s all behind us now! And so I’ll be on my way. I just need that clipboard back.”

“Of course,” Kasumi smiled, noting the relief on his face as she returned it, “I’m sure you have a busy day ahead of you.”

Mihawk looked over the wooden crates that had been hastily stacked on the dock. “Cargo-boy?”

“Y-yes?”

“Forget you ever came here.”

“No problem, sir! I’m leaving now.” Gus shoved off and fumbled with his sail before catching a breeze that seemed to whisk him away from the foreboding island to the safety of the open sea.

Mihawk hoisted the crates onto his shoulders and began walking up the hill toward the castle. “Eh, imo, tell your Fortier not to send any more strangers here.”

“Well, Henri can’t do everything himself!” she argued, “Besides, it seems that he sent him here as some kind of punishment or something.”

“I can’t imagine why…” Mihawk muttered, placing the crates near the back door. He pried them open to reveal gleaming hardware for the humandrill shelters and a supply of shiny vinyl raincoats.

Kasumi unfolded one to find a cute cartoon duck on the back. “Oh! Aren’t these adorable! We’ll have everything built in no time, and they’ll look so precious in their coats, don’t you think?”

“The monkeys? No, they’ll look like vicious monkeys in silly raincoats. But if it pleases you, dear, then we’ll build the structures soon.”

He stored the supplies in the wood shed and then joined her in front of the fire in the great room to warm his hands. He stripped off his snow-dusted shirt and embraced her as they laughed about Gus’ reaction. Standing against each other in the darkened room, their kisses grew more passionate as she pressed her finger along his bare belly until it reached a small golden buckle.

He drew in his breath. “Eh… wait a while longer…”

She smiled slyly, “ _What? There’s no one stopping us.”_

“It would be better to prolong… the anticipation a bit further, don't you think?” he whispered against her cheek.

“Hmph!” she teased, “You just like to control everything. Why don't you ever let me make decisions? You might enjoy having someone tell you what to do.” Memories of a few particular books she’d read in the barn flooded her thoughts.  

“Kukuku,” he laughed as his eyes narrowed, “do you think so?”

“Let's find out. Kiss me and put your hand here.”

His shoulders stiffened, but he allowed her to guide his hand to her waist. “Eh, although there may come a time to test your theorem, it's not now.” He slid his hands onto the small of her back and sighed.

> “Still, still to hear your tender-taken breath,
> 
> And so live ever—or else swoon to death.” *

Kasumi’s lungs quivered. If it was a poem-argument he wanted, then so be it! Recalling a verse her sister had read aloud while giggling at the foot of her bed, she recited:

> “And the sunlight clasps the earth,
> 
> And the moonbeams kiss the sea; -
> 
> What are all these kissings worth,
> 
> If thou kiss not me?” *

He laughed and grazed his sealed lips against hers. “Patience, rabbit. Sustain your longing a bit. Desire… suits your features well.”

The heel of her boot clicked as she stepped back and looked up at him. “You realize you make me crazy, right? You know what you’re doing!”

A smile spread over his mouth—not the awkward smirk or grimace that he usually passed off, but a genuine tender trough of kindness, the inverse of his familiar へ-shaped frown. “Dear, if you’ll allow me, I’ll do so for as long as I can bear it.”

Kasumi swatted at him, but he was already out of reach, nearly grinning at her from across the room.  

“Moreover,” he added, “I’m leaving for a few days to sail the Grand Line. It wouldn’t be proper to leave you here alone so soon after such a… momentous occasion.” He thought of watching Shakky smile through tears as Rayleigh left for the umpteenth time, but his memory was quickly interrupted by Kasumi.

“And this time you’ll take me with you?”

He plopped onto the sofa and stretched out his legs with a groan.

“I won’t cause any problems! I just want to fight. And I can help you! I can do… Well, what do you need me to do?”

Snapping back that he didn’t need help with anything, he pulled off his boots and settled in for his delayed nap.

She crawled on top of him and lay with her head on his chest. _“It’s because you don’t like to be seen with me in public, isn’t it?”_

He ran his fingers through her hair and admitted that it might cause some difficulties.

_“Why?”_

“Eh, there’s a certain reputation I have…”

Kasumi jabbed her chin into his sternum to look at him in the firelight. _“So you’re embarrassed to be seen with me? I'd ruin your cool lone swordsman reputation?”_

“Bah! No. Why would I be ashamed of you? There’s no reason I should be. And move. That hurts.”

 _“Well, why does it matter?”_ she asked as she replaced her cheek on his chest, _“If it doesn’t bother you, and it doesn’t bother me, then what’s the problem?”_

“Rabbit, I may take you along, but if word spreads that you’re my… companion… you may be subjected to, eh, undue scrutiny.”

_“So?”_

His hand skimmed along her arm to her shoulder and gently squeezed. “It may be difficult for others to… resolve the nature of our relationship...”

_“Oh, I see. You don't want anyone saying you have a girlfriend.”_

He covered her hand with both of his and looked at her with a stern expression. “That’s not it, dear. If my employers discover us traveling together, I’ll be asked to define the relationship. For you to be left in peace, the easiest course may be to identify yourself as my -ahem- rather than my—”

“Your what?” she demanded, switching to her audible voice.

“Um, subordinate. Subordinates of Shichibukai are granted leniency. Associates and companions are not,” he explained softly.

“Well,” she huffed “what do the other, uh, Shichibukai companions do?”

He sighed and admitted that he didn’t know of any.

“Well, I don’t want to be known as your subordinate. Can’t you just say we’re friends?”

“Eh, no, dear. It doesn’t work that way. It may be easier to simply claim you as an underling. It will protect you from the Marines... and from pirates.”

She told him that it was a ridiculous choice to force on her. Besides, hadn’t he only recently encouraged her to wear her cape announcing who she was in the streets of Water Seven? And now he expected her to claim that she _belonged_ to him?

He pressed his face into the crease of her neck. “Imo, it may never come to pass, but if I do need to… explain you to the Government, please say you’ll trust me.”

By the next morning, he'd decided that she could join him on a short trip, if she agreed to do as he told her and stay out of the way. She asked him if (and what) she was supposed to pack, seeing how she’d never been on a trip before, and he handed her a small duffel bag. “If your belongings don’t fit in this, then they're excessive. The most important things are food and whatever, eh, daily toiletries you need.”

Having no idea what he meant by that, she packed a change of clothes, her toothbrush, the new floppy hat, extra socks and underwear, a brush and a hair-tie, a towel, and a pillow and blanket. “That seems about right,” she mumbled as she tossed in some crackers.

They set sail just after breakfast; Mihawk’s mind whirled with excitement and nervousness at having the little rabbit aboard. If worst came to worst, he could always lock her in the below-deck cabin. She’d hate him for it, but at least she’d be safe. Her eagerness to fight, though admirable, was sure to cause some quandary along the way otherwise.

He gave her a short lesson in navigation and currents on the Grand Line and promised to teach her to navigate on her own, someday. After a few hours, he pointed out a ship in the distance painted entirely sky blue, nearly invisible on the open sea.

“A novel idea…” Mihawk mused, “Time to prove its futility, eh?”

He guided his boat closer and closer to theirs as the camouflaged pirates attempted to remain as silent and still as possible. Mihawk's eyes never wavered. The coffin boat sailed boldly toward the ship, intent on proving that the ruse was worthless.

Once the crew realized they’d been spotted, their hopes for sneaking onto the Grand Line were dashed and they began to fire frantically upon the small boat, launching everything they had at the wily craft.

“Stay here, rabbit,” he grumbled, “Observe.” Mihawk launched himself aboard the blue ship and bisected most of the men, along with the masts, within an instant.

Cornering the captain, he snarled, “Did you truly believe such a cowardly approach would succeed? The Grand Line doesn’t suffer spineless weaklings.”

Kasumi watched eagerly as he followed through on the slashes he always cut short in her training. The blue deck was awash in crimson; Mihawk showed no hesitation or sympathy for the men who’d tried to evade him as he worked through the crew methodically. He seemed invincible! No matter who came at him, or how, he read their movements and struck before they’d even decided on a strategy. Her heart thumped as she observed him in his natural habitat, his muscles rippling as he charged and swung with baffling precision. After making quick work of the men, he dashed into the wheelhouse to rummage around for items that might interest him.

All of a sudden, she spotted three men escaping in a small blue lifeboat at the stern of the ship. Deciding that this was her chance to prove her worth, she shot two white slashes toward them, capsizing the small craft. Feeling quite pleased with herself, she smirked and admired her work as the lifeboat began to disappear.

Once she realized that they were still alive in the water, she swung again, this time removing their heads as easily as beans from a pod. Somewhat satisfied, she leaned back and waited for Mihawk.

An insect buzzed by her ear, followed quickly by another. She turned to swat it and realized that a fourth pirate was in the water, shooting at her with a flintlock. The audacity! Leaping onto the remains of the lifeboat, she stabbed him through the belly with a smirk and easily pried the gun away, just in time to see Mihawk emerge from the wheelhouse.

Once safely back aboard the coffin boat, she smiled at him as he hopped back to her. “You were supposed to stay here,” he admonished, “I thought you’d agreed to do as I say.”

“They were getting away! And he shot at me!” she countered, still reeling from the thrill of having seen him fight with such abandon, not to mention taking down some pirates of her own. “Besides, it was fun. I didn’t do anything dangerous.”

Mihawk quickly splintered the blue ship with a single green shockwave and then began to unwrap the package he’d taken. A handful of jewels poured over his fingers. “Would you like these _,_ hime-kun?” he asked innocently.

“Well, not especially, but if you don’t want them…”

“Then they’re yours. This too,” he said, tossing her an Eternal Pose, “But please, try harder to stay put next time.”

Kasumi played with the Eternal Pose and sifted the jewels as Mihawk circled the sinking ship. “Don’t you ever ask for a duel?”

“Eh?” he asked, taking a long swig from his canteen.

“I thought you liked to fight people out here,” she said, holding the Eternal Pose in the air.

He told her that he could easily sense when fighters weren’t worth his time. Every pirate he encountered revealed their weakness in one way or another; when the weakness was too obvious, it was easier to strike them down right away. The rabbit nodded, her eyes fixed on the needle of the Eternal Pose.

At sunset, they shared a quick dinner and a bottle of wine while Mihawk discussed the litany of mistakes the blue-ship pirates had made in combat. “So you see, Shikkearu, by failing to cover the lower outside, he exposed the—”

“Where am I going to sleep?”

“Eh, wherever you’d like,” he answered as he emptied the bottle. “You can sleep in the cabin, if you’d rather not sleep topside.”

Kasumi scoffed, “I’m not sleeping in there. It smells like feet.”

“Wahaha!” Mihawk laughed, “Well, that’s where I hold my bounties. I suppose most of them aren’t the... hygienic sort.”  

She spread out her blanket onto the narrow deck. “Are you going to sleep in that chair?”

He grunted, “It’s my usual resting place.”

“And it’s not uncomfortable up there? Sleeping in a wooden chair all night?”

He pulled his hat down to cover his eyes. “It’s no different than any other chair. Plus, it allows me to keep watch over the horizon.”

“So I’ll be down here by myself all night?”

He opened one eye and offered, “Darling, if you’d rather join me…”

“No, I can’t rest all scrunched up like that. I’d rather stretch out down here.”

The two slept hesitantly, each craving the now-familiar feeling of the other sleeping at their side.  

The sun woke them early the next day. Kasumi hid under her blanket, begging for a few more minutes of sleep after a restless night. He ducked underneath her cover to meet her and smiled.

“Imo, you can nap later this morning. Don’t you want to wake up and eat with me? I have eggs, pancakes, champagne, strawberries, sausage, jam…”

“Mm hm hm!” she laughed, “No, you don’t!”

His smile fell. “I suppose I don’t. But, still…” He pressed his lips against hers and tossed the blanket overhead. After several minutes of eager kissing, he whispered, “So you’ll join me for breakfast, then?”

They snacked on dried fish and bread while watching cheerful porpoises jump in the distance. Kasumi felt as if she’d finally seen him as he was meant to be—not the awkward poet or the sleepy wine expert, but the vicious pirate killer, the feared swordsman, the cold and cruel destroyer of dreams whose name triggered terror in all who heard it. The man he was supposed to be. The man they had intended him to be.

And he played the part well, she had to admit; his presence alone yesterday had stunned her into silence as she saw him accost the camouflaged pirates. But now, he sat in the morning light shaving with the Kogatana, making faces to guide the blade across his skin. A few bread crumbs rested on his bare belly; he’d removed his hat, and his scarlet eyes sparkled in the sun. Had she really feared him not so long ago? Him?

“Mihawk?”

“Eh?” he grunted.

She scooted next to him and placed her hand on his knee. “Where are we going?”

He splashed his face with seawater and grit his teeth at the stinging sensation, then muttered, “Well, there’s a certain route I usually follow that takes me through all the common pirate paths... Occasionally I deviate if I find something interesting. Is there somewhere you wish to go, hime-kun?”

“No—well, yeah, there’s lots of places I want to visit, but I was just wondering if you had a certain destination in mind.” She reasoned that once she’d been out with him a few times on the open sea, she could ask him to take her to any location she wanted—or maybe she could even sail there herself! She’d be alone on the sea, self-sufficient, dangerous, and romantic, a lone swordfighter...

“There’s no fixed route,” he continued, “I follow the usual landmarks and then see what the sea brings me.”

Kasumi nodded, lost in a daydream about herself sailing the open ocean with only her sword. In no time at all, she concluded, she’d be perfectly capable of holding her own against any pirate the sea could throw her way!

The skies were clear and the proud little boat sailed along in the fine weather, Mihawk sitting with his head bowed while Kasumi leafed through an atlas. By mid-morning, she was bored.

“Isn’t there anything to do on this boat?”

“Kukuku, princess!” he laughed, without looking up, “Perhaps you would have rather stayed at home?”

She sat down on his lap and smirked, “No, I’d still rather be with you.” She leaned in to nuzzle her face against him and slipped her arms around his neck. “Maybe someday I’ll have my own boat and you can come along with me! But you know,” she teased, “you’ll have to agree to do as I say and stay out of the way.”

“Is that right?” he said absently.

“Yes! And then you can sleep on the deck while I sleep in a regular bed. And I’ll actually have pancakes for breakfast! And melons, and omelets, and croissants, and— Are you listening to me?”

His eyes were fixed on the horizon, but he mumbled, “Yes, of course… Eh, Shikkearu, can you see that ship? There?”

She followed his nod across the ocean, but admitted that she couldn’t make out any objects in the distance.

“It's a Marine vessel,” he mused, “They've been tracking us, turn for turn. Perhaps they have some business to discuss. It, uh, it may be time for you to determine if you're willing to declare yourself as an underling…”

“No! I'm a royal! I won't pretend to be someone’s crewmember!”

Mihawk sprang from his seat with Kasumi in his arms. “Then you'll be my captive!” he grumbled. Tossing open the deck hatch, he placed her inside the dark cabin, ignoring her protests. “Hime-kun, dear, you agreed to trust me. Please play along. Give me your hands.”

“What? Why?” she demanded.

“Because you've been captured by Hawk-eye Mihawk,” he grinned as he wrapped rope around her wrists and cinched it gently. “Just stay here until they're finished speaking with me and we'll be on our way again.”

She rolled her eyes. “For how long? It stinks in here.”

“It's no worse than a barn is it, princess?” he smirked. He brought her bound hands to his lips and told her to be patient.

A blaring ship horn caused her to stumble backward; Mihawk shut the hatch and turned to face the enormous craft. A series of flag-waving Marines were directing him to the stern, where a hatch was slowing opening with an enormous roar. Mihawk scoffed and sailed inside. The hatch closed behind him with a heavy clank and he found himself in a dark port area inside the hull. After his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a small group of officers who snapped to attention as footsteps sounded through the hollow.

“Hawk-eye! Just the man I was hoping to run into!” a familiar voice boomed. A gang of lieutenants parted to reveal Admiral Sengoku descending a long steel staircase. “When the boys said they’d spotted you, I thought perhaps we could have a chat about some business. It’s easier than calling a meeting at Marie Geoise, don’t you think?”

Mihawk stood in silence and glared at the group of Marines, sizing up which of them might be worthy swordfighters. He thought of Kasumi sitting in the cabin and hoped that she would remain quiet. Perhaps they wouldn’t need to know about her, after all!

Sengoku dismissed the lieutenants and met Mihawk on the walkway. “If you’re not busy, I have some things to discuss with you,” he offered.

“Understood,” Mihawk replied.

“Good, good,” the Admiral replied, “And we can take that prisoner off your hands as well.”

Mihawk stiffened. “Eh?”

“The boys said they saw another person on your boat,” he said, indicating that Mihawk should follow him up the staircase. “Don’t worry about it; we’ll make sure you get your bounty.”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed and he looked at Sengoku directly. “I’d rather keep her with me.”

Kasumi sat hunched inside and trembled with nervousness as she heard three men step onto the boat. She wasn't afraid—surely Mihawk could work something out—but the thought of playing prisoner much longer filled her with anxiety. If they found her, she was certain that they'd keep watch over her until he returned from discussing whatever was so damned important. She loathed the idea of having Marines sit and stare at her in silence. Perhaps she could use her gift to get them to leave her alone? At least they wouldn't be manhandling her like a common criminal; she _was_ Hawk-eye Mihawk's captive, after all!

The hatch popped opened and an officer reached inside to jerk her up by her elbow. “No! Keep your hands off me,” she yelped, “How dare you?!”

A meaty hand crashed into her mouth, silencing her complaints. “Aw, shut yer trap, pirate chick! Scum like you don't get to order us around! Now walk!”

She was slung onto the walkway and had just found her footing when a wave of black and maroon suddenly blocked her path.

“The girl stays with me,” Mihawk growled. Yoru’s tip rested on the throat of one of the Marines, who despite his callous expression, felt his heart might jump out of his chest. The Marine looked at Sengoku, who shrugged.

Mihawk grabbed Kasumi by the rope on her wrists and yanked her away from the Marines, grunting, “This way.” He was relieved to realize that her dingy training clothes fit the role perfectly; if she'd had her lovely tailored shirts and pants on, the ruse might have fallen through. Even her hair was a mess, having been disheveled by the wind. With her now-bleeding lip, she looked like a perfectly miserable captive. Of course, however, for the fact that he’d forgotten to take away her sword.  

 _“Mihawk, I hate you for this,”_ she seethed.

Her words stung, but the charade still had a chance. If only she could keep quiet a little longer…

“She’s still got her weapon!” one of the officers shouted.

Unfazed, Mihawk continued following Sengoku up the stairs, leading his prisoner behind him.

“Wow, what a badass,” another Marine whispered, “He’s so confident that he doesn't even disarm his prisoners!”

They were led down a series of narrow hallways while Marines hopped against the walls to salute the Admiral. Their murmured gossip echoed through the corridor as soon as the trio had passed.

“Is that Hawk-eye?”

“I think so. Who else would have a sword like that?”

“Who’s the girl?”

“I don’t know, but she must be pretty notorious to be led to the boss’ office like that. I wonder what she did!”

“Did you see his eyes? He really is terrifying! Dead inside, if you ask me…”

Finally, the hallway opened to an imposing waiting room. They walked into a large but stark office with a huge “Reigning Justice” banner on the wall. Sengoku closed the door behind them as Mihawk sat in a chair across from the desk and propped his feet onto a small table.

Kasumi wasn’t sure if she should stand or sit. She wanted to slap Mihawk for this stupid plan and just explain to the man with the weird beard that she was his student, or traveling companion, or girlfriend, or sister, or even a hitchhiker! Anything but his prisoner! Or his underling! If she could only get a chance to put her hands on this Admiral, maybe she could settle this without any debate at all. Changing his mind couldn’t be that difficult...

The man suggested that Mihawk’s captive could stay in the brig, assuring him that she’d be returned to him unharmed.

“Uh, no. I’d rather keep an eye on her myself,” Mihawk replied.

“Is that so? Well, she can’t stay in here while we discuss business. Young lady,” he waved, “go out onto the balcony. And don’t harm my goat.”

Kasumi looked at Mihawk, who nodded dismissively. _“Mihawk, isn’t there a better way to go about this?”_ She was beginning to feel desperate and panicky; couldn’t he at least just give her a wink, or a smile, or even a raised eyebrow? Why did he have to act so cold to her? Separating the public Taka no Me, the World’s Strongest Swordsman, from the private Mihawk who snored on the sofa and picked the broccoli out of his stir-fry was too big of a task to consider right now. She stood on the windy patio and warned the goat to leave her alone.

“Hawk-eye,” the admiral began, “there’s been an influx of pirates from Fishman Island. You may have heard of Fisher Tiger…”

He droned on as Kasumi stared at the open sea until she felt the goat nudge against her thigh. _“I don’t have anything for you. I’ll just stay out here a while. No! I said go away!”_ Why couldn’t Mihawk hurry this along? If he’d wanted her to pretend to be his prisoner, he should have at least gone over the plan with her. Weird-Beard and his goat were definitely not in the cards. She sat down on a wicker chair, her hands still bound in front of her.  

“So it’s become a bit of a priority for the Marines to eliminate these racial purists before they become a bigger threat,” Sengoku continued.

The den den mushi on his desk suddenly awakened. “Excuse me, Admiral, would you like to have your lunch now?” a voice blared.

Sengoku quickly snatched up the snail and answered, “I’ll just be a bit longer. Can you keep it warm for me?”

“Of course, Sir,” the voice replied far too loudly.

He glanced over at Mihawk and asked “Would you like something to eat? It must be difficult to travel the way you do, without a crew or even a kitchen.”

“Eh, no…” Mihawk replied, “But offer the girl something. She hasn’t eaten in some time.” He was quite pleased with himself for both implying that he’d deprived his prisoner, as he would any other, and for providing Kasumi the opportunity to sample one of the tasteful Admirals’ meals he’d eaten in the past.

Sengoku requested food for the prisoner and continued speaking about the most recent menaces to the Government that he’d like Mihawk to eliminate. Soon, a female Marine entered the office and brought Kasumi a tray holding a cracked bowl full of slimy, watery rice and a piece of moldy bread.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s the best you’ll eat for a long time, scoundrel,” the woman replied with a smirk, “I suggest you enjoy it.”

Kasumi desperately wanted to continue the ruse, but choking down the food was more difficult than she’d imagined it would be. Both of the men casually peeked over to see if she would finish it.

Mihawk began to wonder if the ploy would succeed after all. Kasumi was sure to despise him after this ordeal, and he was quite upset already about how the situation had unfolded. He’d worked so hard to win her heart back after the Ito-Kiri had severed their tie. Could she hold on just a bit longer? He may yet be able to escape with his prisoner and see her smile at him again. Sometimes enduring difficult situations like this was, in the end, the best choice.

\-----

Mihawk’s mind soared back to the time just a few months after Roger’s death. He’d sailed home to Sabaody and stayed only a few days before the Government carrier bat arrived during his walk along the beach with Shakky. She’d been asking him about the wines he’d tasted in Loguetown, but it seemed he couldn’t recall the flavor; everything about Loguetown was a blur.

The invitation snapped and whipped in the sea breeze as he read it again. He told her it was a ridiculous offer, but she encouraged him to reply.

“This could be the best use of your skills, Mikkun!” she said, patting his chest, “And it would keep you safe... and busy! What else is there, fufufu? You could make a name for yourself as a bounty hunter or a pirate, but this is a fine path, and much safer!”

Mihawk kicked at the ground. “To work for the Government? Never! Have you forgotten what they tried to do to you and my father? Or what they did to Roger?”

“Of course not, darling! But, a position as a Warlord would allow you to fight to your heart’s content! And to protect your parents from retribution. What else will you do with your title? Open a dojo?” she laughed.

He replied to the bat by formal letter the next day, using a metaphor about a tiger strolling into his newly-expanded hunting grounds.

Admiral Sengoku had arrived several days later and found the young man sitting and shooting green shockwaves at the rising bubbles.

“Hawk-eye, is it?”

Mihawk didn’t look up. “Yes.”

“I’ve been sent here on behalf of Fleet Admiral Kong, as a request from the Gorosei. Will you take the position then?”

“For how long?”

“Until you tire of it, boy! Or until we tire of you, I’m afraid. Just use your skills the best you can to control the rookies in Paradise. We need you to be a name that deters people from coming to the Grand Line.”

“And…” Mihawk asked, “my parents will be pardoned?”

Sengoku sat down across from him in the soft Sabaody grass. “Young man, what your father’s done is too heinous. It would set a terrible precedent for him to be pardoned. Surely you understand. However, we can agree to ignore his presence as long as he doesn’t cause any more trouble…”

Mihawk met his gaze and asked the question that would determine his ultimate reply: “And my mother?”

“I can arrange a pardon, if you insist.”

“I do.”

The man stood and offered his hand. “Excellent, then it’s settled. We’ve heard a lot about you, Hawk-eye. The Government is delighted to have your sword on our side.” He waited on Mihawk to stand and grasp his hand before adding, “Please come to Marie Geoise in a week for your confirmation. There will be quite a few people expecting you. Oh, and bring a nice set of clothes. Put a shirt on for once.”

“And I’ll be free to fight whomever I want?”

“In Paradise, yes. You’ll be free to take all comers.”

\----

Kasumi fed the goat another bite of the moldy bread in exchange for an obedient spin and bow. _“Aren’t you cute?!”_ she told him, _“Can you stand on your hind legs?”_ She laughed too loudly as the goat pressed his feet against her chest and bleated earnestly.

Sengoku wrapped up his speech about the dangers of Fishman supremacists, concluding, “So, I hope you’ll continue to keep an eye out for young ruffians like that…”

Mihawk nodded.

“Hawk-eye?”

“Eh?”

Sengoku leaned forward across the desk. “That girl isn’t your captive. Did you really think I would believe that?”

“Why not?” Mihawk asked,

Sengoku sighed loudly. These new Shichibukai were more trouble than they were worth, but he’d been ordered to “reach out” to the strange young man and attempt to “form a meaningful relationship” lest Rayleigh’s son become a more serious threat than the Dark King had been in his day. Surely he’d listen to reason.

“Hawk-eye, you fulfill a need for us. We have a need for a lone swordsman who strikes terror in the heart of new pirates. And you do a fine job of it. It’s just, for you to have an underling is… well, it’s just out of character. Non-canonical, even. We'd prefer you to travel alone.”

Mihawk bristled at the suggestion that Kasumi wasn’t suited for him. Still, the situation was salvageable. “Eh, she’s not an underling. She’s a captive. I'll dispose of her myself.”

“If you insist that she's not your subordinate, then she’s not under your protection,” Sengoku countered, “We’ll take her off your hands and restore your name as a singular talent.” He tapped his den den mushi and requested a detachment to disarm and secure the prisoner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Mihawk’s line is taken from a poem by John Keats:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bright_star,_would_I_were_steadfast_as_thou_art  
> http://academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/english/melani/cs6/star.html
> 
> * Kasumi’s reply is taken from a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Love%27s_Philosophy  
> https://poemanalysis.com/loves-philosophy-by-percy-bysshe-shelley-poem-analysis/
> 
> Ch 26 tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/182075366901/ch-26
> 
> Poetry post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/182078195331/ch-26-poems


	27. Prisons, Cages, and Hotels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 600 hits! Thank you, everyone! I know it's not a lot to some people, but it is for me! I'm glad you like my little story :D

_“Restore your name as a singular talent?”_ Mihawk’s brow began to twist into gnarled wads of throbbing tissue. Of course he was a singular talent! Merely having the little rabbit at his side could never diminish the gravity of his title, or more importantly, the abilities it signified. His swordsmanship certainly didn’t _require_ her, or _rely_ on her! He didn’t even expect her to help if—however unlikely—he found himself in a delicate situation. He’d allowed her on this trip as a wide-eyed spectator and playmate, but most assuredly NOT as his assistant!

Claiming her as his subordinate was fine. Perfectly agreeable. The conditions were met: she was under his protection; she (mostly) followed his direction; their relationship was bound by loyalty and shared interests. Though she’d despise the term, declaring her as his apprentice or underling didn’t seem untrue in the least; however, implying that she somehow lessened his reputation as a Shichibukai or a swordsman because he _needed_ her was beyond the pale!

Truth be told, he’d exceeded his own expectations recently; the spar with Akagami had been the beginning of it. He felt a certain vigor as of late, a potent sense of dynamism, a confidence that sometimes made fighting feel a bit surreal and distant. He was Dracule Mihawk! Invincible! Unchallengeable! Immaculately striking down all who stepped before him with no more exertion than a finger snap! NEED the rabbit? Psh! If anything, she’d given him the elixir to more fully employ his talents (not to mention the delightful new handicap challenge he’d given himself in protecting her at sea!)

The rabbit! Companion, imo, lover, student—whatever she was—it seemed that she'd need to be his subordinate in the government's eyes. To keep her safe. To keep her with him. To satisfy the nosy Admiral so they could be on their way.

It briefly crossed his mind that he should never have brought her along, that she’d have been safer at home, but how could he, Dracule Mihawk, allow anyone to tell him who he could and couldn’t bring to accompany him?

His pulse pounded behind his eyes. Sengoku was trying to disquiet him, and unfortunately, he’d succeeded. He’d showed his concern for the girl and the Admiral had wisely called his bluff. The prisoner plan was spoiled.

“I won’t allow her to be taken,” he snarled, “and I doubt she’ll be an easy prey for your goons. Mark her as my companion. There’s no reason to play at this any longer.”

On the balcony, Kasumi still sat in the wicker chair, her bound hands stroking the goat’s head. What was taking so long?! Mihawk had such a bad habit of rambling on and on about nothing!  

Furthermore, hinging this plan on his ability to lie on the spot was a laughable mistake; making up cover stories was definitely not his forte. He’d simply declared her a captive and tied her hands; that was the extent of his planning. Maybe she shouldn’t have come at all. It was becoming obvious that the Mihawk at home was quite different from the Shichibukai at sea.

The goat heard it first, one ear and then the other flicking out from under her hands to listen more closely to the whooshing noise wafting onto the balcony. It was the sound she heard when he was annoyed during training, or frustrated with a household project, or concentrating too hard on a ridiculous task like pulling a stubborn wine cork. That オォォォォ always meant that he’d allowed it to leak out a bit, the boiling haki that sometimes got the better of him. What had Weird-Beard said to him?

“Miss, come in here,” the Admiral commanded.  

She assumed she’d receive a stern lecture about how turning her over to the whims of Dracule Mihawk was a far greater punishment than any the Marines could mete out… blah, blah, blah, and then they’d be on their way. The little white goat followed at her heels as she sheepishly crossed the room to stand beside her captor.

The man behind the desk rubbed his temples and kept his eyes fixed on a stack of papers as he asked her to explain who she was.

“I’m a pirate,” she said. Suddenly realizing how daft it sounded out loud, she added, “I was unlucky enough to be apprehended by this brute, and he killed my entire crew, and—”

The bell around its neck jingled as the goat stretched up and put its front feet onto her ribs with a plaintive whine. “No! _I told you already I don’t have any more!”_ she scolded, _“Get down!”_

Sengoku’s expression was unchanged as he muttered, “He doesn’t usually like strangers. He’s just confused. Come here, boy. Don’t get mixed up with riffraff.”

The goat sat down at Kasumi’s side with its strange black eyes fixed on her face.

Mihawk took a deep breath and brought an end to the charade. “She’s no pirate… She’s accompanying me.”

 _“What the hell, Mihawk?!”_ she demanded, _“You’re ruining everything!”_

Kasumi couldn’t believe he’d abandoned the ruse so easily! The man at the desk looked quite annoyed at hearing their conflicting stories, and Mihawk’s eyes bored into hers, pleading with her to play the part of his subservient minion. At this point, she felt lucky to at least have the goat on her side!

Her companion grabbed her by the elbow as a small contingent of Marines entered the room. They’d been summoned to escort a prisoner to the brig, but they’d found the situation was anything but the typical “disarm and handcuff” routine. Hawk-eye Mihawk was standing with his hand grasped firmly on the prisoner’s arm, staring down the Admiral while the young woman looked on in panicked confusion, her hand hovering over the hilt of her blade. Was the Admiral under attack?

Sengoku held up his hand at the nervous pack who were worming around the perimeter of the room to avoid the notorious swordsman.

“Our business is finished here,” Mihawk boomed, “I'm departing with her. It would be unwise of you to attempt to take her from me.”

The seriousness of the situation dawned on the princess and she reached for Mihawk as the Marines fully encircled them. “What's going on? Can we leave? _I thought you said…”_

“Sir?” asked the nearest Marine, “Is this woman the prisoner? Or?”

“I don’t know what she is,” the Admiral huffed, “Stand down.”

Without a thought, Kasumi slipped from Mihawk’s grasp and settled her hands onto Sengoku’s wrist. _Just let them go._

While raising his hand once again to keep the crew at bay, the older man’s eyes stayed fixed on Kasumi as he muttered, “I’m not sure what you’re trying, but you’re only making things more difficult for the both of you. What’s your name, buzzy beetle?”

Mihawk, suddenly struck into action by the realization that the rabbit was trying to use her half-baked talent on an Admiral, lunged and seized her by the shoulders, positioning his body between her and the very confused group of Marines who’d come to take her away from him.

“Um,” she stumbled, trying desperately to come up with something plausible, “Shin…seina Ku…rumi.” *

Mihawk rolled his eyes and pulled her to his side, his hot breath grumbling into her ear, “Eh, imo, the truth may serve us better at this point. Though it would be a pleasure to destroy this ship and everyone aboard, our lives will be easier if I don't.”

She stared at him. _“Really?”_

He nodded and then announced, as if the entire thing had been a misunderstanding, “Admiral, your cards are well played. Call off your pestering flies. As I already explained, she's my underling.”

Sengoku dismissed the uneasy bunch of Marines and sighed, “Honesty at last,” as he sat down and called the goat into his lap. Directing his gaze at Kasumi, he asked, “Just who are you, Miss?”

She turned her eyes sideways to Mihawk, who gestured at her to go ahead. Once the last sailor had closed the door, she balled her fists and answered. _“My name is Kasumi. He’s my... training mentor.”_

Showing no surprise at having received a telepathic reply, he opened a drawer and began to sift through a stack of documents. “Is that so? Hawk-eye, do you claim this woman as your subordinate?”

“Yes,” he replied as he flicked the Kogatana over Kasumi’s wrists to allow the rope to fall onto the floor.  

The admiral drew out a long sheet of paper and smoothed it over his desk, while pushing the goat’s eager mouth to the side. “Well, that's unfortunate. I thought you were strong enough to stand on your own.”

The rage began to simmer in Kasumi’s mind. Just who did this guy think he was?! She slammed her palms on the desk and valiantly gave the Admiral a piece of her mind. “Shut up, you! You think you’re so clever to torture him into admitting that he was protecting me? No wonder everyone hates the Marines! You can’t even treat your own hired guns with the respect they deserve! What’s the point in giving you honesty when you only act like a jackass when you hear the truth?”

Though his face didn’t show it, Mihawk stifled a laugh at the rabbit’s bravery and ignorance. Her insolence was delightfully endearing, especially when it was directed at someone else.

The Admiral stared at the young man before him and allowed an uncomfortable silence to hang over the room before speaking. “Hawk-eye, your subordinate seems rather unruly. Won't you bring her into line?”

“Who can tame a cyclone?” Mihawk snapped.

Only a few years ago, Sengoku had faced off with the cold but hedonistic Rayleigh and the capricious but cunning Roger, not to mention—years ago—Shakky, who seemed to take every battle in stride with a cigarette dangling from her carefree smile. Their nonchalance grated at his nerves like a snagged cuticle… and Mihawk had developed the same ridiculous insouciance. So he was supposed to bring this boy to heel? The prodigy swordsman who lied to his face about the buzzing girl on his arm?  

“Who can tame a cyclone, indeed?” he asked, stroking the goat in his lap. The situation was clear. The young man’s haphazard lifestyle had attracted a cute little floozy who seemed to have transfixed him enough that he’d jeopardize his own position. Perhaps if Rayleigh had been a more diligent father, his son would have a better head on his shoulders!

Sengoku leaned back and closed his eyes. “I see the circumstances now. You’re young and imprudent. There’s no fault in it, given your upbringing, but I hope you'll do better to keep your private life separate from your work life.”

Mihawk’s muscles tingled at the insult. “They're the same life. And the Government wouldn't deprive its most effective warlord of fulfillment, lest they lose their fine tool. I suspect it's not a chance they're willing to take…”

A cloud of confusion suffocated Kasumi, cluttering their words. If he was claiming her as a subordinate, then why was his position at risk? Couldn’t he do what he wanted? How had the situation gone so wrong? She straightened her back and tried to hold a solemn expression, but she wanted to ask Mihawk why he couldn’t just tell the Marines to stick it.

Sengoku exhaled loudly. “No one’s asking you to live half a life. But, you brought her aboard under the pretense of being a prisoner because you realize that keeping a subordinate under your name would diminish your reputation.”

“Eh, I claimed her as a prisoner at her insistence. She’s a… competent fighter, but her name is a sensitive matter. But, of course, nothing can stain my reputation. Bring me your top warrior this instant and see that her presence changes nothing.”

His patience nearing its limit, the Admiral put it as frankly as he could. “You were recruited into this program as a lone swordsman. Attaching yourself publicly to a girlfriend is not only endangering _her_ , but also you and the Marines, since she could be leverage in any situation. Don’t you see that? Exposing your weakness for her makes her susceptible to being taken as hostage, or worse. What will you do if someone threatens her while also endangering our interests?”

Kasumi’s head began to pound. She’d come to sea to kill some pirates and learn about other islands; now there was talk of her being taken hostage? And did Weird-Beard just refer to her as his girlfriend?

“She can fend for herself without my assistance,” Mihawk countered, “Do you doubt my ability to evaluate a fighter?”

Returning his fingertips to his temples, Sengoku lowered his tone and spoke in the same manner he spoke to his own son Rosinante, who was only a few years younger (but substantially more respectful) than the young man sitting across from him.

“I know there's no sense talking to a pirate who’s lied to me several times already. Especially a lovesick one. Just, don't make it a habit to bring her along.”

“I **can** fight on my own!” she blurted, “I’m smart! And a good swordfighter! And if anyone tries to hold me hostage, I can escape by myself!”

The duo had delayed his lunch long enough; the Admiral grimaced and mumbled impatiently, “If he says you’re a fighter, then you must be. Surely he wouldn’t lie about _that._ Young lady, will you be performing tasks under this man’s name?”

“Yes,” Mihawk quickly answered.

“Then you should have admitted it from the beginning.” Exasperated, he began to write on the paper he’d prepared. “What's your name again? Walnut?”

“No, Kasumi. Shikkearu Kasumi.”

“Of the royal family?”

_“Yes.”_

“Hm, thought they were wiped out,” he mentioned, stamping the paper and sliding it across the desk, “Anyway, you may need this.”

“What is it?” she asked, annoyed that he still hadn’t reacted to her ability to speak without sound.

“It's a Letter of Marque—although Hawk-eye can revoke it at any time. Display it to any Marines who give you trouble. And they will! Because this man works alone, understand? No one is going to believe you’re his underling.”

Turning to Mihawk, he added, “Listen, I won’t force young lovers to part, but this is an unwise idea. There’s more to your life than libertine impulses. You have responsibilities. To the government! Whether you take them seriously or not…” He placed the goat on the floor and stood up. “You two be on your way. I'll file the paperwork discreetly. Young lady, don't ruin this man's name.”

“My name means more than the Marines can appreciate,” Mihawk growled, “Open the hatch where my boat awaits. I won't be paraded through your hallways again.”

The door to the holding area was ordered to be raised and the whooshing sound returned as Mihawk wordlessly directed the currents to guide his boat to a clear area beneath the balcony. He turned and glared at the Admiral before grasping the princess’ hand. “Call a formal meeting in the future if you wish to discuss business with me,” he snarled, before leaping from the balcony with Kasumi pulled behind.

They both landed gently on the deck, and he settled into his chair with a huff as she slid down beside it. The small boat quickly distanced itself from the Marines, and the duo rested in silence for a long while.

Meanwhile, Sengoku sat down to his lukewarm lunch and shook his head. What was the point of calling a formal meeting anyway? No one ever came…

\----

The coffin boat sailed aimlessly as Mihawk churned with frustrated rage. Was he expected to live as a self-deprived monk, never knowing love, just because he was a swordsman? Or, worse, to live as a machine who didn’t require it in the first place? Had Jigaro? Or Ryuma? Had Cyrano? His father certainly hadn’t! Why had destiny imbued him with such a deep capacity for pathos only to ask him to ignore it at every turn? Perhaps it was his mother’s fault—if she hadn’t read him all those poems and dramas as a child…

The Marines didn’t seem to mind any other indulgences! He could sail half-drunk, allow himself to grow as fat as Linlin, or let himself be consumed by greed like those detestable World Nobles, and his reputation would be safe as long as he completed his job. Why was this any different? Besides, the little rabbit needed him. Needed his protection. And she’d chosen him! After 23 years of near-isolation from the opposite sex—only occasionally to hear them whisper about his strange behavior, his manner of speech, his fixation on swords, and his single-minded devotion to training—he’d discovered someone who didn’t seem to mind at all, fearlessly delighted in him, even. She was a star-crossed gift from the Fates!

The humandrill girl. Her bare shoulders in the orange sunlight of the garden. Her dark sense of humor combined with the saccharine naïveté that had fostered today’s proceedings. The way she blushed after a few glasses of wine. Her capacity to tame the baboons. Her stubborn smile. The way she snarled and spat at the Marine who punched her. The way she wore her scars unashamed. The way her chin never sank when she took a strike from him. The fierce light in her eyes when she fought him with feral abandon. The fluttering when she called his name. The way she never seemed to fear his power…

Though he certainly didn’t require her sword, as Sengoku had implied, he still felt a desperate yearning, a craving to be with her that was hardly sated even when she was already in his arms. What kind of fool would willingly part from the source of Cupid’s sweet ambrosia?

Kasumi leaned back and pressed her shoulder blades against the cool wood. She considered her dual identities:

princess – orphan;

fighter – hostage bait;

equal – underling.

Had she so easily let him distort her duty, not to mention his? The only correct path was to become stronger so she wouldn't be dependent on him. Or on anyone! She couldn’t allow herself to drag him down, or allow him to keep her from her goal. Her destiny was fixed. Playing pirates with the world’s moodiest swordsman was not a requirement.

Separating from him, however, was not an option. Her heart was captivated by him; he seemed to understand the outlook her life had bestowed more than anyone ever had! Plus, no one outside of her family had ever—ever!—been so unafraid of her strength! He seemed perfectly suited for her, almost as if they were written for each other. But who _was_ he?

On one hand, he was the sweet, awkward, lazy bookworm whose hair fell over his eyes as he completed newspaper puzzles in pen; the know-it-all connoisseur who gave her a short lesson about every wine he uncorked before hesitantly kissing her lips like a schoolboy; the shy gentleman who conspicuously averted his eyes while she changed clothes. But, he was also the vicious monster who’d tried to kill her on their first day together; the man who sliced his opponents in half cleanly without a second thought; the bloodthirsty warlord who caused people to tremble once they realized who he was; the man who nearly ditched her while she was lost in the market and laughed when she struggled in training. He’d cut her himself without a shred of hesitation only a couple of weeks ago!

An insistent hand searched around the arm of the chair. “Are you alright, rabbit?”

Clasping it with both hands, she answered, _“Well, I’m not thrilled about it, but what's done is done. I guess our adventure at sea isn't all fun anymore… Why did he stop you anyway?”_

“Eh, something about fishman supremacists,” he mumbled, “You want to eat?”

The thought caused bile to squeeze its way into her throat, stinging so much that she didn’t consider speaking aloud. _“No, my stomach doesn't feel very good. What about you? Are you alright?”_

Mihawk squeezed her hand decisively. “Fine. Of course. I’d be quite pleased with a light meal and a nap at this point, but it seems there’s work to be done. Do you see it?”

Squinting into the late afternoon light, she saw a shallow ship, fluted at both ends, with a huge red and white sail atop and oars extending from both sides. A Viking ship? It resembled the ships she’d seen in encyclopedia articles about the Giant race, but was much, much smaller. Who were these imposters?

Mihawk directed his boat onto a collision course with theirs, eager to have an outlet for his ire. As he approached his newest opponents, he grit his teeth and squeezed her knee before standing with a hand over his shoulder on Yoru’s hilt. “Stay. Here,” he growled, “Don’t. Move.”

A seething “Ooooo” sound filled the space between the two crafts. His sternness caught her by surprise and persuaded her to remain an observer. He could fend for himself. He probably needed a fight anyway. _“Knock yourself out,”_ she replied.

He sprang onto the Viking ship and demanded they present their most skilled swordfighter. A man of normal height and build appeared, waving a longsword as he walked boldly toward the intruder. Before Mihawk could complete his opening statement, the fool had struck at him and he’d forced him to his knees.

“You could have elongated the battle a bit, don’t you think?” the Shichibukai asked with a raised eyebrow.

The man wheezed and heaved, held at the point of Taka no Me’s sword while the rest of the crew stood helplessly by. With a twitch of his forearm, Mihawk cleaved the man into two vertical pieces that slid over each other to form a heap on the deck. The faux-Giants gasped. The Grand Line guidebook had warned them of the hazards of storms, Marines, other pirate crews, and even wild animals, but a random swordsman in a tiny fishing boat wasn’t mentioned anywhere!

He turned to the man who seemed likely to be the captain. “Cast your most valuable possessions into a sack.”

Assuming that he’d leave them in peace if they gave up their treasures, the captain directed his men to pile up all that they could to appease the intruder. Once this ordeal was over, the book said that they were to continue along until they reached Mock Town, where they could relax for a long while until their supplies were replenished.

Mihawk tossed the bag of offerings onto his own ship, where Kasumi sat attempting to look as disinterested as she could. Pleased with his foresight at relieving them of their valuables _first_ , he let loose his anger and proceeded to destroy the ship and its inhabitants. His jaw clenched tightly—too tightly—as he made his way forward through the crew. A fountain of blood erupted in every direction as Yoru satisfied his urgent need for destruction. His temples pounded; his eyes throbbed with effort. What good was his title if he wasn't permitted to do as he pleased?!

Pressing his boots apart from each other, he slid over the deck’s slick red coating and seized the captain before crashing his sword between the horns of his silly helmet. A soft grunt escaped his lips while he sliced at the crew with blinding speed, a sanguine steam rising from Yoru in the waning light. Ruin his name? Did Sengoku not comprehend the extent of his power?

She watched, dumbstruck, while he diced human beings as easily as button mushrooms. His sword danced effortlessly through the men; her eyes were hardly able to track it. Despite his flat facial expression, the evidence of his rage lay strewn about in glistening chunks of tissue amidst rivers of blood. Was this him at his strongest? His angriest?

The boat and its crew were quickly transformed into red sawdust, and the sharp scent of freshly-chopped wood mixed with copper hovered over the sea. Still not satisfied, he hopped onto an island of flotsam and sliced furiously at the cloud of sawdust until it dissipated.

The opponents were eliminated. Having nothing left to cut at, he returned to her, breathing heavily, and dumped himself into his chair. After a moment, he wiped his head with a handkerchief and adjusted his hat.

“What did they put in the sack, hime-kun?”

She shoved it toward him.

He tilted his head at her and opened the bag. There were wads of loose bills, some gold trinkets, a log book, and a heavily-marked paperback titled “Grand Line for Dummies.”

He offered it to her.

“What? Am I a dummy?” she asked.

“No,” he deadpanned, “but at the very least, you should know what a dummy knows.”

She scoffed and tossed it in her own bag, her eyes too tired to read it anyway. He seemed calmer now, almost himself again, and he smiled a little when he invited her to sit beside him in the oversized seat.

He clamped his arm around her defiantly, preventing anyone from taking her—or her from getting away. “Imo, the day has been tiresome. A hotel is nearby. I rested there once during a tempest. There we can eat a good meal and relax a while…”

She objected to any special treatment, but he insisted that he was as tired as she was, and they made their way toward a small island barely visible on the horizon.

After securing his boat at the hotel’s dock, they climbed a steep staircase and entered a small but tastefully-decorated lobby.

The boy behind the desk vanished at the sight of his new guests and promptly returned with a smiling middle-aged woman who was smoothing her shirt and patting at her hair. “I told you! It’s _him!”_ the boy whispered. She gave him a quick kick to the shin.

“Why, helloooo! So nice to see you again, Sir! Our finest room is available tonight, just for you. The Coral Kingdom Suite! I think you’ll find it suits a man of refined tastes like yours and, of course, we’ll be happy to provide you with anything that’s lacking!”

The woman’s eyes were alight at the prospect of receiving a bit of the Shichibukai’s generosity. On his prior visit, she’d made enough money to buy herself and her son an entire wardrobe of winter clothes! Sure, he was a bit intimidating, but at least he didn’t cause any problems during his stay, unlike the usual pirates and tipsy tourists.  

Noticing Kasumi at his side, she hesitated for just a moment before leaning forward and asking softly, “Now, the Coral Kingdom Suite has only one large bed, though we can provide you with a futon if—”

“One bed will suffice,” Mihawk answered.

The nervous boy took Kasumi’s bag and offered to take the swordsman’s, but was rejected with a grunt. He led them to a small elevator and pushed the button for the fifth floor. The silence of the elevator ride was suffocating; finally the boy forced himself to speak: “Are you enjoying your trip?” Damn! Why had he said something so stupid?! His usual small talk was absolutely worthless. Still, what kind of small talk does one use with a murderous warlord? Killed anyone interesting lately? Can I help you with your bloody coat? His palms were drenched in sweat. Only one floor to go.

Kasumi took pity on the panicking bellhop and offered, “The weather is lovely.”

They exited the elevator and were led to the suite, where she threw herself onto the scallop-shaped bed in relief.

“If, if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call me, uh, call my mom.”

“Bag-boy? State your name,” Mihawk growled, holding the door halfway closed.

“Jeffrey, Sir. My mother is Irene.”

“Hmph. Well, Jeffrey, I’ll be down soon to request some dinner. Please ensure that it’s worth eating.” He handed the boy one of the wads of bills from the Vikings and closed the door with a resounding thud.

_“Mihawk?”_

He hopped onto the bed next to her and folded her into his arms.

 _“I feel like an idiot,”_ she admitted, _“I thought you could just tell them I was your friend. I thought it would be more fun out here. I thought I’d get to fight pirates and visit exotic islands and—”_

He pressed his lips against hers, gently avoiding the split from her encounter with the Marine goons. “Shikkearu. I know this isn’t what you imagined... but the worst is over. You and I remain together, and the issue with the Marines has been resolved.”

“But I feel so STUPID! I wanna be able to do whatever I want! And make a name for myself! And be with you, too, but like, your equal. Now I had to lower myself to saying I was a pirate's wench! I'm a royal! And I have to pretend that I take orders from someone?”

His smile melted. “Is that what you think of me? That you've lowered yourself to be with me?”

She rested her cheek against his stomach and whispered, “I'm sorry,” while she stretched out her legs. “I don’t think you’re lower than me. That was rude. It’s just that I'm supposed to stand on my own. I want my own reputation, not just to piggyback on yours. And your umbrella is only meant for you, it seems.”

His fingers became stuck in her tangled hair while he tried to reassure her, “Dear, it's regrettable that the plan didn't work. You’re established as my subordinate now. You suffered due to my mistakes…”

“No, I'm the one who wouldn't agree to the original suggestion. We should have just told them in the first place instead of pretending I was a prisoner. I was too stubborn. I caused you to lie to the Marines and lose their trust.”

Mihawk huffed at the idea. “They never trusted me! They hardly trust each other. To them, I'm a double agent… But there's no sense in worrying about it now. At least you'll be safe. The relationship between the Shichibukai and the Marines has been tenuous from the start. It's bound to fall apart entirely someday…”

Kicking off her boots, she mumbled, “But I still need to get stronger so no one calls me a liability. I don't want to ruin your name.”

“Kukuku! How? Are you going to cause me to lose my title? Are you going to force me to be a lesser swordsman? Don’t be ridiculous. I do as I please.” He crossed the room and closed the curtains, cutting off the view of the city below.

“If you do as you please,” she grumbled, “then why didn't you just tell the Marines the situation and slice them all to bits?” She dug through her bag for her brush and began working on the knots created by a rough day at sea. She’d imagined sailing with her hair blowing gracefully in the wind, smoothly lapping around her body and shining in the sun, like the women in shampoo advertisements, not the sweaty rat’s nest that currently sat atop her head.

“Eh, because that would endanger our lovely life at home, dear. I'd rather not take on the entire Marine forces. Or have them come after me at the island... but, that's a battle they don't want, either. I suppose that's why they keep me around.”

She leaned back and pulled at a tangle. “So now what?”

Sifting through the sack of the Vikings’ treasure, he pulled out a few trinkets that seemed to be of value. Perhaps it would be enough to cover the room, some dinner, and a half-dozen bottles of wine? On second thought, he added some of the paper bills to his pocket, just in case. “Eh, we'll complete this trip as planned... And I'll continue to take you out whenever it's prudent. They won't question it again... and you’ll train with me as long as you want. And I’ll be yours as long as you’ll have me. No one will take you from me.”

“Take me from you?” she gestured with the brush, “Mihawk, do you realize you can't continue treating me like a child? I want to be self-reliant. You can’t keep me in a gilded cage! I spent enough time being locked away already!”

The bed creaked as he sat down and turned to look at her. “When do I treat you so? Of course you're an adult.”

_“Well, surely you know that you have a tendency to be a bit... overprotective.”_

“What else can I offer you?” he countered, eyes flashing with indignation, “I would be remiss were I to neglect to employ my greatest asset to the benefit of my dearest treasure. Would you ask the farmer to give up his plowshare and watch idly as his crops succumbed to vermin and—”

“I’M NOT YOUR CROP. And you're not my farmer,” she hissed, “I'm a person! With my own goals. I don't want to be dependent on you... and you certainly don’t need me.”

Mihawk’s chest felt strange, almost as if he’d suddenly dropped from a great height. Blaming it on the fact that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, he told Kasumi to take advantage of the pearl-themed bath and he’d return with dinner shortly. Surely some good food and wine would settle both of their spirits!

He headed downstairs to inquire about dinner. Irene’s face lit up and she eagerly suggested the local specialty, clams linguine. “That will suffice. I’ll also need six bottles of whatever wine is decent here... and in the morning, pancakes, eggs, strawberries, and champagne.” The golden trinkets clinked onto the counter as they spilled from his hand.

“Ah!” she winked, “Planning for a long night?”

“Eh, no... Simply recovering from a long day.”

He wandered onto the hotel patio and stared out at the sea, losing track of time as the night tide washed over the beach. Did she really think that he didn’t need her? Perhaps not as a fighter... but as a companion, he needed her quite desperately. The time he’d spent with her over the past months had been most enjoyable! And did she not want to need him in return? Or, at the least, to appreciate his protection? What more could he offer her besides his sword? He moped up the stairs to the Coral Kingdom Suite, preferring to avoid the stuffy elevator.

As soon as he’d relaxed with the local newspaper in hand, a sharp rap came at the door. “Room service, Sir!”

He cracked the door to see Jeffrey struggling to balance a tray of food, a box of wine bottles, and a huge bouquet of roses in every garish color imaginable.

Quickly relieving the boy of the first two, he then stood and peered over the flowers.

“Eh, what’s this?”

“They’re from my mother…” Jeffrey offered.

“Is she in love with me?”

“Oh, no, Sir. They’re for the lady.”

“Is she in love with her?”

Jeffrey paused. Was the man joking with him? It was impossible to tell. “They’re for you to give to the lady, Sir.”

“Of course they are, imbecile!” Mihawk snatched the bouquet away and slammed the door. He set up the meal on a tall, circular table and positioned Kasumi’s barstool in front of the bouquet’s most beautiful blooms.

Kasumi emerged from the bath wearing her only clean clothes, rubbing at her hair with a towel.

“Ah, Imo, apparently this dish is what’s popular here. Sit and eat a while,” he offered as he filled her glass.

She mulled over the pasta. “Pretty flowers. Were they your idea?”

“Uh, no…”

“Hm.”

“Do you think tomorrow we might look around a little? I mean, I don't even know the name of the town we're in.”

He slowly cracked a smile. "Neither do I."

She laughed and gently kicked him under the table. “You’re not a very good tour guide.”

“I never said I was.”

Mihawk brought his glass to his lips and swallowed the remainder of the local swill. It seemed that today was a good day for clearing the air on a variety of issues. Surely it would be better to tell her now. He twisted his pasta with his fork and muttered, “I dislike what you said earlier. About not needing you.”

“Well, you don’t,” she replied, “You’re Dracule Mihawk. Lord of the Sea. The greatest swordsman alive. I’m just a tagalong.”

“Eh,” he started as he began clearing the dishes, “perhaps I don’t require your sword skills for my survival, but it’s my… ardent wish that you appreciate my… admiration for you.” He stacked the tray of dishes in the hallway and closed the door.

A red flush spread over Kasumi’s face and neck. “I do. I just, I want to be strong so I won’t be a liability for you. And I can do both,” she said as he crossed the room toward her, “I can be with you and still make a name for myself. I just have to train. A lot.”

“So then you won’t need me?”

“That’s not what I meant!” she insisted as she swung her arms around his neck and hopped down from the barstool. “I don’t want to depend on you to fight for me. Or to hold you back. And you don’t need my skills—you said so yourself! But that doesn’t mean I don’t need you around. I like you. I was just talking about fighting, not like… life.”

She was playfully tossed on the bed as Mihawk laughed. “Wahaha, rabbit! Separating the two is an exercise in futility.”

He excused himself to take a shower while she flipped through the Grand Line guidebook the faux-Vikings had given them. There was no mention of Kuraigana Island at all! She hurriedly flipped to the front to check the copyright date: 1502, only two years ago. How could it have fallen from common knowledge so quickly after her family’s demise? She’d bring it back! No matter what! She was going to make more of herself than “Dracule Mihawk’s assistant.” She’d be Shikkearu Kasumi, scourge of the sea, telepathic genius, master swordfighter, top bounty hunter, who just happens to be Dracule Mihawk’s girlfriend!

They spent the evening with wine and newspapers, as usual, until the day’s exhaustion caught up with them both. Realizing that she hadn’t packed any pajamas, she peeled off her pants under the sheets and tossed them onto the floor, relishing the chance to stretch her legs before turning onto her side. The bed was surprisingly warm, and she nearly drifted off to the sounds of ships lumbering through the harbor.

He curled up behind her and kissed her neck, awakening goosebumps over her legs when he whispered, “Ka-su-mi. Are things… alright between us? Are you content with our… situation?”

“Of course!” she giggled while her abs tightened, “So we had a rough day; so what? I want to be with you, come what may. And you?”

“I’d cut the moon for you,” he replied, sliding his hand onto her thigh. “The practicalities of managing our titles together have very little import in the light of my overwhelming and earnest delight in being with you, at all times, and not just during those in which the Fates have blessed with the amiability of merriment.”

“You really have a way with words, Mihawk,” she laughed.

He caught his last knuckle just under the hem of the leg of her underwear. “Words and actions. Both.” His finger slid along the arc covering her upper leg and ending at the back of her hip, where his thumb stroked lazily at the mound of muscle at the limit of her spine.

She drew in her breath. _“Do you still want to wait?”_

He exhaled sharply in an attempt to expel the excitement from his mind and repositioned his arm around her waist. “Phew, yes. It would be best.”

“We could do everything but…”

“No,” he hissed, “It shall be an ideal night. That night... In my bed—In our bed... Still, I… I do want you madly.”

After a short pause to meet his eyes, she smirked and pressed her face into his shoulder. _“Then let's agree to settle this when we get home.”_

He let out another puff of air. “Ka-su-mi… to ensure the perfect night with you, I’ll restrain myself in the most difficult ways.”

\------

At 8:00 sharp, the door rattled. “Room service, Sir!”

Ignoring his first impulse to grab his sword, Mihawk lazily rolled out from bed and opened the door without speaking. Jeffrey began to unload a cart of Kasumi’s favorite breakfast foods and a vase of gerbera daisies. She peeked out from under the blue duvet, hoping he hadn’t noticed her pants lying on the floor.

Once they were alone again, Mihawk arranged the feast on the table, tsking about the boy’s lack of attention to table-setting. Next, he grabbed Kasumi’s hand and chided, “I told you we’d have pancakes, didn’t I?”

She laughed as she sat up and kissed him for a long while, gradually forgetting that she didn’t have any pants on. They stroked each other’s backs and embraced while the breakfast steamed on the table.

“Mihawk, ani… I don’t want to be a burden for you, but I don’t want to be without you. Let’s see what it’s like today, just the two of us out in the world together.”

He held her against him until their heartbeats began to synchronize. Between kisses, he whispered, “Rabbit, let’s stay together a long while…”

Kasumi wanted to say what had been on the tip of her tongue for weeks now, but the words were stuck in her throat.

 _“Mihawk... I...”_ the completed sentence never left her mind.

His lips curled into a mischievous smile. “I too, dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Shinseina Kurumi: 
> 
> Shinseina has a few meanings in Japanese, including "holy; sacred;" and "genuine; authentic; true; pure."
> 
> Kurumi means walnut. Kasumi really sucks at fake names.
> 
> Ch 27 tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/182185847156/ch-27


	28. The Water Cycle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Implied underage sex (nothing graphic or descriptive)

“Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared to love in dreams.”

\-- Fyodor Dostoevsky,  The Brothers Karamazov   

 

After a leisurely breakfast and a stroll through the town, they gathered their bags and left, barely acknowledging Irene’s cheerful goodbyes. 

A bright eyed teenager came jogging down the dock in the morning sun. He couldn't believe his luck! Jeffrey wasn't full of shit, after all!

“Hey! HEY! Are you Taka no—”

In a flash, Mihawk spun on his heels and glared downward at the kid, who couldn't have been a day past 15.

“Hm, seems you know the answer to that,” he replied coolly.

Kasumi rolled her eyes. Couldn't he just say yes?

The boy stammered on about how he was also a swordsman, one of the best in town, in fact, and he had fought some pirates and could even cut through a solid steel—

“What do you want?” Mihawk sighed.

The young man's eyes sparkled. “I want to fight you! I'm challenging you! And if I win, I'll take your title!”

Mihawk had already assessed the boy: his bad posture and lanky gait indicated a weak torso; his eyes darted around too much; he was overconfident; his weapon was ill-suited for his frame, and, worst of all, he was irritatingly eager.

“What purpose would it serve for me to defeat you? Dueling with whelps is below me.” He turned to join Kasumi, who was already settling into the boat.

The teen’s face flashed with rage as he stomped forward into a lunge. “That’s an insult! I’m the best swordsman on this island! You can’t talk to me like that! I **demand** a fight.”

A movement as quick and light as a mantis strike sent the boy reeling backward into the water, his sword tumbling comically overhead.

“I have no duty to battle every... callow suppliant who pursues me,” Mihawk grumbled, “Demand your fight from someone more fitting to your level.”

The boy bobbed and gasped in the wake, too stunned to speak as the boat steadily disappeared from view. The world’s strongest had flicked him like an insect! He only hoped Jeffrey hadn’t seen...

Kasumi and Mihawk drifted lazily a long while in the brisk morning air. He’d considered heading back toward Kuraigana, but Kasumi seemed content and there was no reason to hurry. Besides, he wanted to demonstrate that his life at sea involved more than just Marine engagements and hotels.

He picked out his stitches with the Kogatana, pleased to see that the scar was already fading. Fair, smooth skin, black hair, and athleticism were all traits from his maternal line, a long line of Kuja women his mother barely spoke of.

The handful of times that Mihawk had seen the Kuja on the sea, he’d quietly compared their features to his, but none of them seemed to match. Perhaps, as his mother had speculated, the rest of her family were satisfied to remain commoners who never left Amazon Lily at all. What must they think of their lost daughter? And did they even know who he was?

From his father, he’d inherited a proclivity for napping, especially at times like this. He slouched in his chair and tilted his hat downward to ward off the rays from the mid-morning sun.

Dressed in only a tank top, pants, and the floppy hat, Kasumi was finding the sun to be a bigger problem than she’d imagined. As it approached the apex of the sky, it became inescapable, threatening to scald her no matter where she fled. She’d never been the type of dainty girl to carry a parasol, but she was quickly learning to appreciate the idea! Going under the deck was out of the question; she’d rather be boiled alive out here than suffocated in a cabin that reeked of body odor.

She tossed the blanket over the back of his chair and clenched the other end of it between her feet, creating a makeshift sunshade. Finally finding a bit of relief, she closed her eyes.

\----

Two years ago, icy water from the pump in front of Henri’s house bit at her hands as she washed her dinner plate. Eating in the barn didn’t really bother her, except when the weather was bad. Besides, it wasn’t that she was exactly _unwelcome_ in Henri’s home; it was just easier to avoid the tension from Marius’ hatred and Odette’s distant formality.

She slid through the kitchen door and peeked into the living room, where Henri, Odette, and Marius sat playing cards and laughing, wrapped in the smell of sweet wine and fresh bread.

“Good night,” she said.

“Dormez bien, petite,” Henri replied, his eyes fixed on his cards.

“Your Highness, don’t forget you need to wake early tomorrow to help me in the garden before it gets too hot,” Odette reminded her. Though the princess was a fine worker around the house—better than Marius by far—Odette could never quite shake the creepy aura that seemed to follow the girl everywhere. 

Kasumi nodded and silently closed the door. They’d never suspect a thing! Back in the barn, she anxiously leafed through a book until the final light inside the house was extinguished. She blew out her lantern, then grasped it tightly and began to slink through the darkness. Henri had caught her only once before, when he’d belted out a series of _fait chiers_ and _p’tain de merdes_ along with a few phrases that were new to her. She swore to him that she’d simply gone out to take a walk and tried her best to change his mind, but his eyes revealed that he knew the truth. She’d promised not to do it again, but that was weeks ago!

Opening the door without making a sound had been a tough skill to master, but the process was a cinch by now! The trick was to lift up slightly, so that the wood didn’t rest on the hinges. As long as Bisou was asleep, her escape would be flawless; for some reason, she was the only horse who wouldn’t obey her commands.

Once she was well into the woods, it was safe to light the lantern. Of course, she didn’t need it to find her way; she’d spent enough time on this path to have memorized every root, rock, and low-hanging branch. Henri’s land was located on the far side northern side of Water Seven, one of the last patches on the island that hadn’t been paved and overtaken by gaudy fountains. The terrain was soupy and prone to flooding, but Odette’s family had owned it for generations and worked it into a farmable state. Here, it was almost like she was back on Kuraigana Island.

The sound of the creek guided her in. It wasn’t _really_ a creek, as Water Seven had been sinking for so long that the topsoil was only a few meters away from the last iteration of the city. Dig deep enough, and you’d find a road, or a rooftop, or even an old church steeple, though hardly anything of value was down there. Every time the citizens had raised the sinking city, they’d had plenty of time to strip all the valuables and had left only the worthless rocks and building frames. The island was trapped in an endless cycle of sinking and re-piling, and it wouldn’t be long before Henri would need to haul in more dirt by the shipload to raise up the farmland once again.

The creek near the limits of the property was more like an aqueduct, but the surrounding trees made it feel just like the small streams she’d known at home. She often came here when she was feeling lonely since the sound of the water seemed to calm her nerves. And that’s how she’d met Dmitri.

He’d invaded her private place; she’d caught him crouched at the water’s edge, filling his canteen when she’d retreated here the morning after Marius had stabbed her in her sleep. The stranger received a full dressing down, amplified by the bitterness of Marius’ betrayal. Her cutlass aligned with his chest while he stared at her with a meek smile. 

“I can go wherever I please, Miss,” he insisted. All land belonged to God, he said, and we were fortunate enough to be able to explore his bounty as we wished. When he turned 18 in a couple of years, he was going to leave and set out on his own in search of the famed treasure of Gold Roger, certain that the Lord would protect his voyage. Until that day, he liked to practice living off the land while his parents were drinking in the backstreets of Water Seven, which was essentially all the time.

His deep green eyes blazing under a veil of brown bangs, he told her that he wouldn’t even need to use weapons once he set sail; with God’s blessing, he’d be able to travel peaceably while those dastardly pirates were struck down before him by heaven’s justice. Once he found the treasure, he’d give it to the church, of course.

Kasumi was infatuated! Someone who would make their own way in life! Someone who came and went as they pleased! Someone who had a real plan to escape the island! Someone who, at this very moment, stripped off his shirt and dunked it into the cool water before flashing her a grin.

They met every day after that, in the late afternoon before she had to return home to help with dinner. Mostly, they would lie on the grass hand-in-hand, looking up through the trees as he told her about his dream. She let him chatter on and on, since it was better to let him talk than for him to ask questions of her. Yet, it became increasingly clear that he really didn’t have much interest in her history; the future was the only thing that mattered. To him, she was Kasumi the farm girl, and she preferred to keep it that way. After all, it was nice to have someone who trusted her, someone who didn’t know about her baggage—or her ability.

As teenagers do, they fell in love quickly and fiercely, and although he said it was a sin, their encounters became more focused on physicality than conversation. Tonight was going to be **the** night, Dmitri had agreed, noting that God would forgive him once he’d donated the treasure. After returning from their afternoon visit, Kasumi had bathed and dabbed a bit of Odette’s perfume on her wrists.

As she approached the thinning trees at the edge of the creek, she saw him standing in his usual spot, bathed in moonlight and waiting on her with a shy smile. A sigh freed itself from her lungs as she threw her arms around him, wondering aloud if they could really wait two more years. Though she certainly wasn’t planning on marrying Dmitri, he was a genuine, kind-hearted boy for whom she felt great affection, and traveling to Raftel with him seemed like a perfectly viable plan.

His nose crinkled at her embrace. “Um, Sumi, you smell funny.” 

“I thought it would be nice,” she offered.

The perfume didn’t deter him long. Their passion grew; their clothes decreased. As the act progressed, Kasumi drifted into a pleasant haze. _“I really like you, Dmitri…”_

The bliss drained from his face.

With her eyes clenched tight, it slipped out again, _“I can’t wait to leave with you and be together.”_

He froze. “Did you… did you just **say** something?”

Kasumi stiffened as the boy backed away. “No, I... it was your imagination.” She leaped up and latched her hand onto his forearm. _It was nothing. Let’s pick up where we left off._

“It was nothing,” he mumbled, Let’s pick... up... where... where... but I **heard** you so clearly!” He grabbed up his pants and hopped into them, demanding to know what she’d done to him.

Her heart galloped with panic. “I didn’t do anything! You probably just wanted to hear it!”  _  
_

What happened next was a smudge in her memory; though she was able to summon a recollection of the sounds and smells, the exact sequence of events was unclear. Her cutlass was lying only a hand’s width away. He’d called her a witch, a devil, a bad omen. Her hand wrapped around the hilt. The cutlass popped into his belly. He’d asked if she’d bewitched him; he threatened to call a priest. Blood gushed out of him in alarming spurts. A vibrating noise filled her ears. He breathed his last. The moon lit up his face, filled with indignity. He put on his clothes and sneered at her. How could he have been so blind as to fall for this Jezebel sent to test his resolution? He lay dead on the ground. His voice was rising through the clearing, reaching a crescendo that would certainly be audible from Henri’s house. He was too loud, too irrational, too panicked. The cutlass popped into his belly.

She scampered over the grass to hold his head in her lap, but he heaved his trunk away from her and into the creek, moaning, “Don’t touch me!” His blood swirled into the water and began to mark the current crimson as his breath grew shallow and quick.

“Dmitri! Why couldn’t you just stay calm?!” she cried, “I’m not a witch! It’s just something, something I can do!” Her eyes filled with tears, but her voice remained surprisingly even, as if her subconscious mind had been anticipating this moment from the start, (though she hadn’t expected it to come so soon).

The rhythm of his breathing sounded just like the beat of a jump-rope on the stone bridges of Kuraigana Island. She should have never gotten involved with someone from the outside world! How had she been so stupid as to let her gift escape now? Henri had told her—countless times—that the most important thing she could do was to hide her identity; as long as no one knew who she was or what she could do, she’d be safe.

Adrenaline throbbed through her limbs while her muscles alternately tensed and contracted. Dmitri’s stunning eyes, those emerald infinities now blown open by a hazy black pupil, disappeared under heavy lids. Again, she reached out to hold him in her arms a final time.

“Don’t... touch me, demon!” he gasped, “I want to... to go to heaven!” His hair waved gently in the water as his breathing accelerated before finally stopping altogether.

He expired there, the Lord’s vessel poured out into the drinking water of the city of fountains. She backed up, her pulse sounding in her temple. It was his own fault! He shouldn’t have cried out. He would’ve died anyway trying out his silly pacifist dream on the Grand Line!

Still, **she’d** killed him. Without even thinking about it! Her body had reacted on its own, calling on generations of wrath and bloodlust. There was nothing to be done about it now.

The realization that the worst was over calmed her pulse and she wiped her blade with her shirt, smearing the perfume’s scent along the steel. Frankly, she felt almost relieved at having ended the chapter. Even if she’d lasted two more years with Dmitri and set sail with him, his reaction to seeing her ability was impossible to bear. He’d never truly love her once he knew what she could do. How can anyone trust someone who can change their thoughts? It was better that he died now rather than after two more years of deception.

She took a deep breath, surprised by how easy it was to rationalize. Was this what it meant to be a Shikkearu? To be a killer? It seemed curiously easy!

The house slept peacefully; she was the sole person in all the world who knew what had happened. She stopped at the water pump to quietly rinse her face and wash the blood out of her shirt. Sure, it was awful what had happened to Dmitri. She certainly wished it hadn’t happened. But still, she felt strangely calm; it had been so simple! And almost satisfying.

A faint click pulled her back from her thoughts. The kitchen door closed softly and she knew without looking up that the footsteps approaching were Henri’s.

“Hime-sama? What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

She shut off the water and stared at the wet stones watercolored with Dmitri’s blood. _“Leave me alone.”_

Glancing at her ruined shirt and tear-streaked face, Henri feared the worst. It seemed like there was no stopping the urges that he’d always known were lying in wait beneath the girl’s battle-scarred surface. “Euh, hime-sama?”

She fell onto her hands and knees, knowing well that Henri could piece the situation together. _“I killed him! I thought, I thought he loved me!”_

Henri gasped. What had the little princess done? He’d worked so hard to balance her training while teaching her to restrain her true nature! He knew she was no angel; still, he’d hoped to keep the lid on as long as possible. Kneeling down beside her, he whispered, “Kasumi?”

She grit her teeth; Henri had told her for years now not to let it escape. No one could know who she was or what she could do. For her safety. For her privacy. For her peace of mind. If she told him that she’d let her telepathy slip out, he’d be so disappointed!

It was better if he just thought she was a demon, like Dmitri did, rather than an idiot.

A firm hand cupped her chin. “Hime-sama, who did you kill?”

“Dmitri!” she sulked, “The boy you told me not to see.”

“That little monk? But why?”

Kasumi steeled her jaw and scowled at him in the moonlight. _“No reason. I just did it.”_

After a heavy sigh, Henri walked the princess to the barn and told her to stay put for a while. Cleaning up after Shikkearus was something he’d learned to do early in his career, even younger than Kasumi was now.

She’d sworn that no one else knew, that no one would even know the boy was missing, and he noted with some resignation that she didn’t seem to regret the murder in the slightest. He returned to the house to don his coat and boots while a pair of astonished eyes peered from a bedroom window.

Trekking out to the creek where she’d told him the event had transpired, he cursed himself for not keeping a better eye on her. He knew well—very well!—that the girl was capable of murder. Thirty-five years he’d spent at Ryota’s side, not to mention the dozens of Shikkearu family members he’d seen with the same savage look in their eye. When his father had handed him over to Ryota’s father, he’d told him that it would be a great honor to serve a royal family. And it was! But the Shikkearus were broken at their core; no family that burns so easily could ever be tamed. It was a miracle that they’d survived as long as they did!. He often asked himself if their bloodlust was a side-effect of their telepathy or if the two were separate curses in their own right.

He found the boy at the creekside with a gaping slash on his side. The Shikkearus were predisposed to attack first and ask questions later, and their attacks often left their victims in no state to answer questions at all. The girl was becoming dangerous. He couldn’t even allow her to spar unsupervised with Marius after she’d charged at him with such malice last week. And now this? Still, he was sworn to protect her, like a lion in charge of a rabid dog.

Burying the boy took hours, plenty of time to consider what he ought to do with Kasumi. He’d seen the same pattern play out several times already: a wrathful, illogical Shikkearu lashing out at someone for hardly any reason at all. Without the strength and protection of her royal name, she’d find herself in danger if she ever dared to step a foot onto the Grand Line. 

In the breaking dawn, he returned to her side and knelt down on the barn floor, surprised to find her still awake and staring at him with empty eyes. “Kasumi, this is serious. You don't have the protection of your family name anymore. If you're found out, they may lock you up for good! You have to seal these impulses away. You mustn’t allow it to come out, ever.”

But as of that night, the fissure that had been testing the seal had finally cracked, and the animosity building in the princess had finally reached escape velocity.

He’d started to see it more and more during the following year: the dark brown stains on her coat after the carnival; the bruises; the obvious stab wound to her bicep that she’d insisted was a pulled muscle; the ferocity with which she battled Marius for even a simple training session. She’d disappear after helping prepare dinner and not return until daybreak, dragging herself into the barn after brawling for cash all night in the backstreets of Water Seven. He bit his tongue, unsure if clamping down on her would just cause her to kick all the more.

That is, until the day she’d nearly taken Marius away from him.

He’d asked them to practice a simple parry-riposte-remise drill. Nothing dangerous. Just something to kill the time before dinner. Marius’ mouth was too quick and thoughtless, just like her response. Before he could halt it, she had him at the tip of her blade, a crimson stream running from underneath his chin.

“KASUMI! Hime-sama!” he screamed as he knocked away her blade with his own.

 _“I’ll kill you too, old man!”_ she growled. Henri saw it then for the first time since she was a toddler. It was **that** look. The same expression he’d seen countless times before from this confounded family. Eyes dead, unfocused. Staring into nothing and everything at once. The look that meant reason and logic were useless. The look of frenzied rage.

He shoved Marius out of harm’s way, and the boy tore off into the house to the safety of his mother’s arms.

Kasumi spat and stomped back to the barn, slicing down a few trees along her path. What was the point of all this training if not to kill? If her experience in the alleyways downtown had taught her anything, it was that she was nigh-unstoppable! And Henri wanted her to put a cork in it? She tossed her sword into a corner and sat with her head buried in her knees as the horses scattered away from the buzzing noise coming from the other end of the barn.

After checking that his son was (relatively) unharmed, Henri grabbed a handle of wine and set out for the barn. He’d hoped to find her a bit more composed by now, but both she and the horses were still far too jumpy. He slid down the wall next to her with a groan and tilted the open bottle her way. 

“Are you alright, then?” he asked, “Enough to talk?”

She grunted and took a long swig with trembling hands.

The old man smoothed his hands through his hair and wiped them on his pants. This disastrous family had already taken so much from him! Not just his eldest son, but his friends, his security, his entire way of life!

Henri himself (despite what they’d told the children) had been traded away by his own father in exchange for the Shikkearu’s assistance in the North Blue wars that plagued his childhood. Once paired up with the young prince Ryota, he quickly learned that the family was capable of acts of violence and cruelty he’d never imagined! And somehow, it was always he who was left to pick up the pieces. He’d hoped to be able to tame the princess, but it seemed her path was already set.

Still, she was his daughter now, not just his lord. The poor child just needed more guidance! He fixed his eyes on hers and started in with the conversation he’d been putting off for some time. “Dear princess, what happened this evening was—”

_“I’m sorry.”_

“You can’t scare me, Kasumi. No matter how you try. And you can’t kill me. I’m your _conservateur.”_

Her chin began to tremble as a strange feeling worked its way through her throat. _“I don’t want to. I don’t know why I said that.”_

“But still,” he continued, “I can’t allow you to threaten Marius like that.” Gesturing at her to take another drink, he added, “You two were just meant to butt heads, it seems. Your father and Hiroshi were the same way! And your brothers... and your sister... and your aunts…”

“I was only eight when they gave me to your grandfather. They told me to serve as your father’s playmate, his man-at-arms! Can you imagine? And we became fast friends, as thick as thieves, hoh hoh! Still,” he said, “I hadn’t expected to find such a ravenous violence in a boy my own age! I soon learned that I needed a strong will to resist his mental suggestions—and a strong stomach to endure the scope of his... tumultuousness.” He grasped her hand and whispered solemnly, “Kasumi-chan, it seems I’m unable to contain yours.”

“Then let me go out there and see what I can do!” she protested, “Like everyone else in my family did!”

Henri breathed a fruity sigh into the barn and pulled the girl against his shoulder. “Hime-sama, I think, honestly, and for your own good and eventual satisfaction, that you should seriously consider, maybe, really consider, think about, with an open heart, think about... joining the Marines.”

She laughed into the bottle. “Me? A Marine? Taking orders from some greasy guy with a bad mustache? I don’t think so!”

Henri didn’t smile back. “Hime-chou, it would be a perfect outlet for your, euh, specific skills. Once they know who you are and what you can do, I’m sure you’d be promoted quickly and allowed to fight to your heart’s content! Imagine seeing the world, fighting all you want, safe in knowing you have the entire force of the Marines as your backup! It’s more than I could ever give you, and I dare say, more than you could ever hope for on your own.”

She’d rejected the idea outright and told him that she’d rather die in a common street fight than to ever submit to the Marines. He left her with the suggestion that she just think about it overnight and hugged her with tears in the creases near his eyes. “Kasumi, just promise me that you won’t kill Marius.”

She nodded. Later that night, she gathered a small bag of provisions and snuck out of the barn for the final time.

The slummy district of Water Seven welcomed her with open arms. The first night, she’d met up with some of the street kids she knew from her previous brawls and was able to secure a safe place to sleep and some pocket money. It was thrilling to be on her own! No one calling her to do chores or to work or telling her to back off her talents. All she had to do was sleep, fight, and eat! 

On the third night, her friend Beans informed the princess that she was stupid for fighting in the streets for wagers. The real money, she said, was in finding drunks with bounties and turning them in to the Marines. Redefining herself as a bounty hunter, Kasumi proudly delivered a handful of petty criminals to the Marine base, registering her name as Eve Midnight, the amazingly clever, super-dramatic, breathtakingly creative pseudonym she’d come up with when she began fighting in secret.

By now, everyone involved in the street fighting ring knew her as Eve, and she’d even invented a backstory and a lovely signature to match her persona. All-in-all, it wasn’t a bad nickname! Better than “Beans,” at least!

She made her way from the Marine Base with a pocket full of cash after turning in tonight’s bounties, dreaming of perhaps choosing a hotel room for the night. Somewhere nice, with a view. Somewhere with a good restaurant. Or maybe one of those hot springs resorts she’d heard about! The doorway she’d been thrilled to call her own was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Tonight, she’d sleep in a warm bed with crisp white sheets after a bath. With rose petals. And champagne. After all, she deserved it!

A dull thud landed behind her; a wiry elbow hooked around her throat. Her head was jerked back against a pungent, sweaty chest. Grasping for her cutlass, she found a sharp, tearing pain in her shoulder as her arms were pinned behind her back. Her lungs expelled every bit of air, forced out by a fist as solid as Henri’s _pétanque_ balls.

There were three of them, shadows in the street defined only in two dimensions, dragging her away from the lone streetlight into an alley. _Let me go!_ she insisted. _Let her go!_ The arm released her, but it seemed no air could be pulled down her throat.

“I dunno who the hell you think you are, girl, but you’ve fucked up. Big time,” the middle shadow growled with breath that reeked of beer and salami. “No one messes with Schollzo!”

Schollzo? Was that the name of one of the men she’d turned in? Schlitz, Schlemmer, Scoliosis, something like that. All the names blurred together. Whoever he was, he’d been easy enough for her to catch, one of the stumbling drunk tough guys she’d known just _had_ to be a criminal worth turning in for some cash.

“Leave me alone,” she wheezed, “he wasn’t very smart... and neither are you.”

The back of her head crunched into the wall behind her; some kind of knobby fist slammed into her cheek; the shadows melted into the background while her body was battered by fists much more experienced and hardened than her own.

Her arms were restrained against her sides, and the sword and flail wouldn’t be of much use in such close quarters anyway. All that was left was her mind and her wits, which were racing toward frenzy and nearly as unusable as her weapons. It had all happened so quickly! In her mind, she’d have already dispersed them by now, with a spectacular roundhouse kick or a slash that left them in pieces in the mildewy alley.

 _Leave her alone,_ she insisted, _just stop here._ Warmth was spreading down her cheek from her temple; it seemed like the shadows were moving more quickly than her eyes could process. How had she let this happen?

“Oi, Renzi,” one of the shadows rasped, “Let’s just stop here. Leave her alone.”

Renzi removed his spiked glove and panted into the humid air. “Nope, young weeds like this need to be killed from the roots.” A series of blows pummeled her face and abdomen as her stomach threatened to cough up the bile that had been building since her last meal this morning. The barrage continued until she felt herself disassociate; her voice became too weak to use.

_“Just, just let me go. You can have the money.”_

“All the money in the world won’t cover the damage you’ve done to our enterprise,” Renzi snarled.

“Dur, who said anything about money?” one of the distant shadows asked.

Renzi pulled out a long dark revolver and shoved it into the girl’s ribcage. “We’re going to leave you here as an example of what happens when people mess with Schollzo! **And** we’ll take your money!”

Sparkles and stars filled Kasumi’s field of vision as a slippery wetness seeped across her shirt. Her face stung, her eyes began to swell, and her knees faltered. The gun, however, was unwavering. Ribbons of blood streamed down her face and landed in the filthy limestone alley.

If Henri hadn’t arrived when he did, having searched the streets for days (despite getting some skeptical looks when he asked where he could find a young girl who liked to fight); if he hadn’t known Kasumi well enough to inquire at every used book store and noodle shop; if he hadn’t felt her faint presence calling him to that particular alley, the princess’ family line could have ended that night, extinguished by a trio of thugs no stronger, but much more streetwise than she was.

Instead, the old man’s sabre made quick work of the thugs and tonight marked the end of Schollzo’s gang.

During the next six hours, Kasumi experienced more emotions than she had since the night she’d left the island four years ago. Shame, embarrassment, anger, self-pity, relief, joy, and resentment stormed through her mind. After tending to her wounds, Henri insisted that this was the last straw—she would join the Marines in the morning once he’d made some calls to a few acquaintances.

Kasumi bristled at the idea. Following someone else’s path was no longer an option! She’d tasted freedom, and she wanted more. “Take me back to Kuraigana,” she proposed, “It’s where I belong. I’ll stay there until I figure out my next step.”

Of course, Henri had raved and ranted at the idea, but the princess had somehow convinced him to give her plan a shot. He assumed that he’d retrieve her in a week, cold and hungry but no worse for wear, and they could reconsider the Marines. Surely she wouldn’t want to stay in the run-down swamp! She was still a princess, after all. 

\----

“Rabbit, oi, wake up,” Mihawk called, nudging her gently in the shoulder. “The sun is high. It’s time to eat. Come out of your cave.”

He handed her some dried fish and seaweed. “I’m afraid it’s not pancakes this time.” he winked.

Blinking into the sun, she sleepily washed down the meal with a long swig of his canteen.

“Mihawk?”

“Hm?”

“Why didn’t you fight that kid this morning at the hotel? Why didn’t you just kill him on the spot?”

He pressed his tongue into his teeth and thought for a moment. “I suppose there are…  innumerable adolescents in this world who dream of making their name on the Grand Line. That boy was no pirate. He was hardly a fighter. It’s better to show him his place than to snuff out so young a life… There will never be a shortage of naive young people who set sail to try their luck... Let them come for me at the right time.”

Picking at her fingernails with the corkscrew, she mused, “Yeah, it seems like almost everyone dreams of being a pirate these days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that’s this Schollzo! https://onepiece.fandom.com/wiki/Schollzo
> 
> This chapter's tumblr post is all about Shakky! Come visit me at https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/182252812271/ch-28


	29. Hot and Cold

Kasumi spent the afternoon leafing through Grand Line for Dummies and trying to avoid straining her eyes in the harsh sunlight. _Everyone wants to be a pirate nowadays…_ Was that even true? Did she want to? Henri didn’t seem to... Certainly not Odette… or Jeffrey… or the countless number of people living on the Grand Line who were just trying to live their lives in peace.

Why had those words come out of her so easily? Had spending a few days at sea with the infamous swordsman spoiled her into looking down on all of those who’d fought to chase their dreams on their own? The questions bounced around inside her head; surely too much sunshine was taking its toll on her! Was she a pirate now? Was he?

Although Mihawk looked the part and certainly had no trouble imposing his will on anyone at sea, his acts weren’t technically illegal. He spoke of pirates using the same distance with which he spoke of the Marines: “they,” “those fools,” “their motives,” never “us” or “we” or any other language that suggested he felt like a part of one group or the other. And it seemed like both groups had rejected him in turn. No wonder he lived such a solitary life!  Kasumi figured that he considered himself a swordsman above all, and perhaps, for him, it was an all-consuming identity.

Her eyes rose briefly from the book when he grunted out a few more push-ups that vibrated their tiny craft. He was in perfect form, 23 years old, with a taut, but not bulky, physique. His muscles stirred under his skin like a salmon straining against the stream, with a smooth determination that made him seem all the more powerful. A sweaty glint covered his bare chest and arms, though Kasumi’s eyes were drawn more to the small of his back and the sharp hipbones that jutted out from either side of his pants. If his pants sat any lower, she’d be able to see the V of muscle that—oh! She snapped to attention, embarrassed that she’d gawked at him for so long unknowingly. The page she’d been reading was entirely foreign to her, and she had to start reading anew from the top.

He sprang soundlessly to his feet and wiped his hands before drawing Yoru from its resting place across his chair. He alternated sets of slow and quick strikes, resetting his count if he’d performed less than flawlessly. The blade had been in his possession for several years now, though he knew well that it would take decades to master, perhaps even a lifetime. Diligent, perfection-minded training was the only path toward harnessing its power properly. Once he was satisfied with his technique, he began a series of level horizontal strikes that zipped over Kasumi’s head so quickly she could feel the heat from his blade.

Noticing her skeptical expression, he took a moment to reassure her, “Don’t worry, dear. It’s not possible that I could strike you.”

She hopped up and playfully batted at his blade. He looked down at her, a warm glow highlighting the curves of his shoulders and arms.

“Do you want to fight me?” she asked with a grin.

“Here?” he scoffed, “Dear rabbit, you _do_ comprehend that fighting in such close quarters will produce a battle quite unfamiliar to you? You may find that it’s more difficult than you imagine.”

Waves slapped against the side of the tiny craft as two pairs of mischievous eyes met.

“Then show me,” she said, as she hopped into stance.

He swung painfully slowly, muddling his brain with the effort of considering each distinct action of the strike, as if he were explaining step-by-step how to tie shoelaces.

The princess glared into the sunlight behind him as she steered Fuchi to meet his blade while focusing on the movements of his hands. Yoru flew toward her with what seemed like the speed of a lightning flash despite his attempt to slow the action. She stepped into the parry and rang against his blade with a clear, light ping as Mihawk smiled tightly.

“Gooood!” he crooned, “Now mind your lower half.” A volley of blows swept toward her waist and legs, pressing her backward as she parried each, nearly toppling over the low edge at the stern.

His eyebrow crept toward his hat. “But now? Whatever shall you do, princess?” he asked with feigned concern, “Now that you’ve retreated to your fullest and you find yourself simply at my mercy… hm?” His frame hulked over her; the scent of his sweat wafted against her face.

Resisting the needling urge to mop her lips over his chest, she swallowed and squinted up at him while trying to recall what she’d read in Strategies for Close-Quarter Combat from his library: small motions; rotate to present less of your body as a target; escape with a _passata-sotto_ under his reach or maybe catch his blade in a bind and somehow get in a flick… but Mihawk was too absurdly quick for any of these strategies to work! What else was there to try? The only other suggestion for situations like this was to hone in on your opponent’s eyes and face. Those deep, fascinating crimson eyes.

She secured her gaze onto his, hunting desperately for a clue that might signal his next move, even analyzing the twitch of his thin lips and the pulse of his bicep for any suggestion of a plan. But of course, she thought, Mihawk never seemed to have a plan for anything!

The corners of his eyes began to crease with amusement, at odds with his near-constant frown. She noticed that his pupils lacked the dilated, animalistic focus that only appeared when he was actually trying; he was toying with her!

“Miiiii-hawk!” she whined, “How am I supposed to learn if you won’t take me seriously?”

His lips moved in reply, but the rest of his body stood stock still as a gentle wind blew through the plume of his hat. His voice lower than a hiss, words escaped through clenched teeth: “Try me.”

Her tongue pressed against her canines until a familiar tang stung her taste buds. Using her shorter stature to her advantage, she attempted to bind Yoru and slide under his arm in one smooth motion, but instead ended up with her shoulder caught in the crook of his elbow as he spun and wrapped his other arm around her as well.

“Ah, rabbit! That’s too slow,” he breathed into her hair, “Surely you didn’t believe you could escape this, this _me_ , Dracule Mihawk, so easily.”

She rested there in frustration for a moment and nearly sank into the contentment of his embrace before she came to her senses. Elbowing her way out of his grasp, she stepped back and looked up at his shadowed face. “You know,” she huffed, “Just because I might not escape from you, _Dracule Mihawk,_ that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t escape from someone else.” She turned and tucked loose strands of hair behind her ears. “Besides, what would you have done if Dracule Mihawk had you in the same situation?”

He thought for a moment. “Eh, I suppose I’d do something unexpected. Something I wouldn’t foresee.”

“Oh, okay, so you don’t know either!” she said, reaching for her canteen, _“You know, I wish you’d just—”_ She halted the thought before it could fully escape; she’d probably pressed her luck with him enough on this trip already.

“Wish I’d what?” he demanded with a hesitant grimace.

Filling her throat with the tepid water from the hotel, she admitted, _“I wish you’d let me fight some pirates, just to see...”_

His expression softened as his eyes grew wide. “Wait a while longer.”

“Then how am I supposed to improve? Don’t you believe in me? Aren’t I a decent fighter? You said so yourself to that goat-Marine!”

“That’s... different,” he mumbled, “Training with me or your spat with young Fortier, ah, but not drawing swords against just any clod on the Grand Line. Hime-kun, pirates out here are vicious. Underhanded. Devil Fruit eaters. Unprincipled brutes. Murderers. Rapists. Thieves. They won’t fight within your expectations. And they won’t allow you to escape as I just did.”

He donned his coat, plopped into his chair, and scanned the horizon before continuing. “It would be necessary for you to remain quite close to me if you were to engage pirates. And to do **exactly** as I say.”

Kasumi approached and slid her knees over his thighs to sit straddling him on his throne face-to-face, delighted to see that he looked almost surprised. _“Of course I want to stay close to you. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little fond of you. But,”_ she added, creaking into her audible voice, “But I want to fight someone new. I want to fight as hard as I can! I want to _—_ ”

A smile cracked across his mouth as he finished the thought: “You want to unleash the monster?”

“Yeah,” she admitted, “I want to see how strong it is.”

She’d wanted to tell him this morning at the hotel that she wished she could fight someone new, but she couldn’t bring herself to mention it after he’d misunderstood what she’d been about to say.

_“Mihawk...I...”_

      “I too, dear.”

There was so much tenderness in his face when he assumed she was going to say that she loved him! And honestly, it wasn’t untrue—passion had always too come easily to her—but admitting it outright like that was entirely unfamiliar, not to mention far too early! Furthermore, it made fighting him even more difficult. All the more reason for her to challenge someone new for a change!

She sighed and lowered her head onto his collar as he began to stroke her hair. Ever since she’d cut Mihawk, she’d been reluctant to fight him with the wanton abandon she once had. Defense was no problem; parrying and dodging his blows was satisfying—even fun!—though she knew he was restraining himself. He was looking out for her, fighting her just hard enough to be a challenge, and there was never a chance that he would hurt her. Defending against his speed and power was rewarding work that made her feel more confident against any opponent.

On offense, though, recalling the dumbfounded, childlike expression on his face that awful day caused a knot to draw up in her stomach. It made her think of Dmitri lying there in the cold stream, his life spilling out while she was helpless to stop it. She’d struck him so viciously and instantaneously, like a mousetrap set to spring at the slightest touch, lacking the temperament to distinguish a mouse from an ant!

Of course, Mihawk wasn’t Dmitri; in many ways, they were opposites. Besides, he could defend himself just fine, and the cut had been an accident, a fluke. He’d said so himself! Still, it wasn’t that she was exactly unwilling to fight Mihawk, but if she was to go all out, she’d prefer it was someone else, just in case—In case the beast inside her tried to take control.

“Hime-kun?”

“Mm?”

He scratched at some unshaved whiskers on his upper lip before musing, “Battling alongside me is not a matter of contention; I’ve no concerns that you’d be harmed while my sword is within my reach... However, are you prepared to assure me that you’ll follow my instructions?”

“Yes, of course, fine,” she rattled off, “I’ll do what you tell me. Just let me have some of them to myself.”

He nudged her off his lap and onto the arm of the chair; it was nice to see her taller than him for once! “I suppose you can’t improve without practical experience... Like the eaglet ejected from the aerie, who learns to soar during freefall… so that it may one day achieve the magnificent dynamism of its ancestors…” He closed his eyes and continued with an air of self-satisfaction, “of which it has surely dreamt endlessly, and without which… no person should call an ‘eagle’ an ‘eagle,’ for the intrinsic strength lies in not only—”

“—So you’ll let me fight the next ones?!”  

Mihawk exhaled softly before answering yes.

She leaned down and ducked under his hat to kiss him. _“Well, what’s the plan?”_

Pulling away from her lips, he muttered, “What plan? Just fight. Do as I tell you. Don’t do anything foolish.”

“But how will I know what to do? And how will I get on their ship from way down here?”

His lips found hers again for a few pecks before he answered; her naïveté and earnestness were quite endearing, if not a bit alarming. “Bah! You’ll know what to do because I’ll instruct you, remember? And you can leap from here onto a ship, can you not?”

Kasumi agreed that she probably could, though she privately had her doubts.

The remainder of the day was uneventful as the modest boat drifted along in the vast open sea. Mihawk pointed out a sea king breaching in the distance near the limits of the Calm Belt and then offered her a meager dinner of canned beans and pickles. Wine, however, was plentiful as always and they curled up to share several bottles of Merlot while huddled together in his chair under the blanket.   

“I thought you preferred to sleep down there?” he asked.

Kasumi hummed and moved the Kogatana so she could nuzzle against his chest. “It’s cold down there.”

Pressing his lips against the crown of her head, he agreed, “Yes, it’s better this way.”

\----

The next day, their supplies were running low. Mihawk started the ship on the route back to Kuraigana, assuming he’d find a town with something to eat along the way. She lazily watched his morning training while taking the chance to sit in his chair for a change. The enormity of the ocean wasn’t surprising to her, but she hadn’t predicted the profound boredom induced by the sheer _nothingness_ of it all. How had he managed this long without some kind of entertainment?! Newspapers, books, training, food, wine, and sleep seemed to be the only comforts he craved; he certainly didn’t indulge in anything more at home.

She sorted and re-sorted the jewels he’d taken from the camouflaged pirates, braided her hair, exercised, and finished reading the book under the shade of her blanket. A bit relieved at realizing that she hadn’t learned any new information from Grand Line for Dummies, she tossed it aside and lay down for a mid-morning nap. Just as she was descending into oblivion, a feather tickled her face. Mihawk was flapping his hat at her from his seat, beckoning her to come closer.

“Hime-kun,” he hissed, “your chance has materialized… These fools are ripe for the picking.” She peered into the eastern light and could barely make out a cargo ship lurking at the horizon: long, plain, and stacked to the masts with containers.

“Mihawk!” she admonished him, “I’m not attacking a cargo ship! Those are just people trying to make a living! That could be Henri!” She knew Mihawk could be cruel, but she hadn’t known him to be so blatantly unfair! Did he have no conscience at all??

“Ah, their aim is to look like your Fortier… Do you not see the cannons or gun decks? Look at the containers. Each conceals a port with a gunman. Should such a ship carry your Henri’s flag?”

“What?!” Kasumi screeched, “They have Henri’s flag?!” Desperately wishing that she had a pair of binoculars, she strained her sun- and salt-weary eyes into the distance to search for the familiar rooster symbol.

Mihawk tightened his torso and leaned forward in hopes that he could close the gap quickly. “Yes, dear, they’re cargo imposters.”

“What the fuck do they think they’re—” she stopped herself suddenly. What if Henri really _was_ using cannons now? What if pirates had actually become a problem and he hadn’t mentioned it to her? He’d told her that pirates held him back from arriving on time for her birthday. What if Henri’s company was struggling to survive?

“Don’t you think maybe it really might be Henri’s company? Maybe they’re outfitted with guns now. Do you see a rooster or a _Vitesse des étoiles_ logo?”

Mihawk scoffed and turned away, a bit hurt that she didn’t take him at his word. “I’m not mistaken,” he growled.

The coffin boat skimmed over the water more quickly than she’d realized was possible, and Kasumi was forced to squat and clench her hat against her head as the vessel came into view. A quick look over the ship assuaged all of her doubts about Mihawk’s assessment; there was no way this was one of Henri’s.

The paint flaking in long strips, the hastily painted and crooked rooster on the flag, the lack of davits… Bastards! How dare they take advantage of Henri’s reputation! She felt her temper begin to froth at the idea of someone this awful benefiting from Henri’s good nature. She’d kill them. All of them.

“Eh, rabbit,” Mihawk said flatly, “contain yourself.” Acutely aware of her fixed gaze, he added, “You and I have an agreement.”

She crouched next to him and grunted an acknowledgement.

“I will eliminate the munitions,” he growled, squeezing the back of her neck firmly, “then, ONLY THEN, will you follow me. Green coat, top hat. He’s yours. If you defeat him easily, I’ll give you the one with the bushy hair.”

“So you _do_ have a plan!” she muttered, her temples pounding like loose drums.  

Mihawk squeezed again, a little too hard this time. “A dynamic plan. Pay attention.” He leapt from the boat, over the facade of cargo containers and into the middle of the ship. After announcing himself as Taka no Me, the Shichibukai and dear friend of the man they were impersonating, he cut down the gun portals and whoever was unlucky enough to be inside. “Your cowardice and presumptiveness, imitating not a tiger but a dove, has brought you to—”

The idea was laughable enough to bring her out of her trance for a brief moment. “Dear friend?” Surely the feeling between Mihawk and Henri wasn’t mutual! Was Mihawk that desperate for friends? Or was he only trying to prove his loyalty to her? She waited until his formalities were completed and then listened for the オォォォォ sound that meant he’d decided to fight.

As she sprang upward, it occurred to her at the last second that she ought to take off the hat; it would just look ridiculous to fight in a floppy sun hat. Besides, she didn’t want to make her name as the woman who wears some stupid hat all over the Grand Line. She tossed it back into the coffin boat while keeping her eyes locked on the ship’s railing.

Her leap had brought her quite far toward the deck, but it quickly became clear that she wasn’t capable of making a jump to such heights. Her advancement slowed as Mihawk’s head came into view.

Heaving her arms at the railing, she thrust herself forward and madly clawed at it, gaining just enough purchase to fling her bottom half upward onto the deck. She briefly wondered if she could pass off her entrance as ‘dramatic’ rather than ‘awkward’ when Mihawk gave her a performance review once this was over.

She slid her way to his side and then waited until she felt Taka no Me guide her foot with his own. Green coat, top hat was near the stairs, pointing his sword at the all-powerful intruder while keeping a cowardly distance as Mihawk sliced down his comrades.

“Hey!” she cried, “Hey, you!”

Green coat turned and gawked in astonishment. There were two of them? He scaled the staircase and aimed his weapon at the girl, unsure if she was a decoy, an associate, or an illusion. Whatever the case, defeating her would be easier than the madman who was presently creating sashimi from his crewmates.

Kasumi’s mind whirled. Although her consciousness was still present, her actions felt foreign and strange; still, she was much more aware than she’d been the day she’d seen Marius. Green coat quickly dissolved before her eyes into a pile of ribboned flesh as her sword moved automatically over his length. Bushy hair was next. Then mustache guy. Then the old one. She barged forward through the imposters as if they were grass parted by her footsteps.

Mihawk gave a tight smile of satisfaction at the rabbit’s success, though he kept Yoru at the ready. Something about seeing her at her zenith brought him absolute delight! She was pleasantly quick, moderately powerful, and fascinatingly vicious; weak fighters like these were fine foes with which to nurture her. Once she’d made a mess of the crew, he swiftly checked the wheelhouse for anything interesting before dashing back to her side.

“Eh, hime-kun, dear? Our objective is fulfilled,” he said as he grasped her elbow, readying Yoru to block her just in case she was still under fury’s spell.

She slid Fuchi out of her opponent’s belly and turned to face the voice. _“We’re done, then?”_

“Yes, my little tomato.”

It was only then that she realized she was caked in a mist of blood—other people’s blood—layers of wet slime and dry crust covered her clothes, skin, her new boots, even dripping into her mouth and eyes.

“Wait for me on the boat,” he gently instructed her, “I shall follow shortly.”

Kasumi bounded down to the boat and began to rinse her face and arms in the sun-warmed seawater. Deeming her clothes irreparably stained, she changed back into her dirty attire in the under-deck cabin and emerged as Mihawk was alighting on the boat to join her. He sent a handful of shockwaves to the cargo ship, which fractured into splinters and shards with a tremendous racket.

Unaware of the red streaks in her hair, she smoothed her braids while musing, “That seems so wasteful. Someone worked hard on that boat. Someone loved that boat. Just for us to come along and ruin it. It might even be worth some money if you towed it to Water Seven.”

Mihawk curled up his lip in disgust. “And what? Provide another pirate ship on the market for some other degenerates to traipse about my territory? There’s no shortage of boats in the world, imo. No one will miss it.”

“Still,” she mumbled, “seems like such a waste.”

After a short nap and take-away dinner from a noodle cart on an unnamed isle, she began to feel more like herself and started to doze in his arms while the boat pressed on toward Kuraigana.

“Mihawk?”

“Eh?” he grunted.

She licked her lips and asked him boldly: “Do you... like killing people?”

“I like fighting,” he deadpanned.

A heavy breath escaped her chest. “Well that's obvious. I mean do you _like_ killing?” Her hands were twisting over each other in her lap in anticipation of his answer.

Shifting his weight, he replied, “It's no different than plucking a weed or crushing an insect.”

“You don't find it a little... exciting?” she asked sheepishly.

He cocked up an eyebrow at her. “Rabbit, the novelty doesn't last long. You've done it before, no?”

“Yes,” she mumbled, fighting her fatigue, “but what if, what if I can't control it? What if I like it too much?”

“Bah! Do you not have more control of it now than you did formerly?”

“I guess that’s true,” she replied before slipping away to her fatigue.

Mihawk slipped his hand over her shoulder and picked at a clump of dried blood near her temple. He reflected on his own struggles to contain the beast within him, the haki that from time to time overflowed the dam he’d labored so hard to create. The princess would have to strive to learn to control it, but she was decidedly no monster, not yet anyway. _He_ was the monster, he who frightened passersby without a word, who had the potential to destroy both armies and civilizations, he who never considered questions like “Do I like killing?” Fighting and killing were as natural to him as breathing; he'd never begun to question it. Fighting was a sport! Killing was how one wins!

By mid-afternoon the next day, the fog of Kuraigana was in view, a welcome sight for both of them. After unloading and taking turns in the bath, they worked ensemble in the kitchen to cook a simple dinner of potatoes and vegetables that they ate in quiet contentment.

By the second glass of Zinfandel, Kasumi’s eyes would hardly stay open long enough to finish a thought, and she bashfully stole away to bed while Mihawk caught up on the newspapers that had been piled on the entryway. By the time he slid into bed next to her, she was sleeping peacefully with the blanket bunched up at her neck.

\----

Kasumi felt unbearably hot. Not warm, not toasty—just inescapably hot. She was alone in the darkened swamp; the only source of light coming from the rare moonbeams that found their way through the trees like lantern slits. Steam rose from the soggy ground and dripped down her face and neck, refusing to evaporate and only worsening her unease. Where was he?

Mihawk was angry with her, but she wasn’t sure why. He was out here somewhere, hiding from her, toying with her, probably laughing at her suffering as she struggled to work her way through the mire. She just wanted to talk to him! His name erupted from her lips over and over again while she pushed forth on hands and knees, desperately searching for him in the mangrove labyrinth.

She found him crouched in a dense bunch of trees and roots, staring at her with those fixed, fierce eyes. “Mihawk!!!” she cried, though it only seemed to come out as a whisper, “Why are you running from me?”

“I’ve determined that I don’t need you after all,” he growled as he stood. “I never wanted you here. You’re a burden, Kasumi. And a worthless fighter.” His figure towered over her, hiding everything but his eyes and a cruel sneer. “Are you so stupid to believe that I’m unaware you’ve manipulated me into wanting to be with you?”

“That’s not true!” she screamed in a whisper, “I never did that!” Her head began to swim and her throat pulsed with blood. “I want you to love me for me!”

“Love you? Pshaw! Look around! Don’t you know there’s no love here?” He stepped forward and Kasumi swung. It was a nice, satisfying strike; like chopping into a training dummy made of polenta. Her attack was flawless, and Fuchi swung so easily and cleanly through the air! For a moment, she waited on him to congratulate her on her perfect form.

But then she saw it. Blood was pouring out onto the ground, buckets of the stuff sliding over the mossy rocks and gnarled roots. Mihawk’s face was stunned—no, those weren’t his eyes!—these eyes were green. She reached out to grab him as he crumpled into the mud, his blood forming rivulets that disappeared into the tide pools and streams.

A knot fell from her throat to her stomach. That dreaded feeling returned, eager as always to remind her that what she’d done couldn’t be taken back. “Mihawk!” she sobbed, “I’m so sorry!” He coughed up a mouthful of blood and looked at her with those green eyes suffused with hatred. His mouth opened again and again, but she only caught breathy syllables here and there. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do it! Mihawk, please don’t go!!”

\----

Mihawk snored through an open mouth, tucked under the heavy winter blanket with Kasumi. The annoying sensation of being struck by a shinai in the shin again and again roused him slightly. “Cease,” he mumbled before twisting onto his other side.  All at once, a scream tore through his mind, though his ears perceived nothing: _“Mihawk!!!”_

He bolted up and tossed back the duvet to find himself drenched in sticky sweat that chilled him instantly. Kasumi was kicking her legs and whimpering, her face contorted in distress. Stringy hair clung about her face and neck, tangling in his fingers as he began to shake at her arm. “Oi, oi, oi, hime-kun,” he whispered, “Wake up. ‘Tis but a dream. Come now,” he insisted, “Awaken.”

He heard it at the moment Kasumi’s eyes shot open: _“_ _I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do it! Mihawk, please don’t go!!”_

“Oh, rabbit,” he cooed, “I’m haunting your dreams now?”

Ignoring his attempt to lighten the mood, she seized him in her arms and began to sob unintelligibly into his chest.

“Now, really,” he teased, smoothing his hands over her sweaty head, “Are you so easily upset by a fantasy?”

The words flowed out of her like an open faucet.  “You didn’t want me anymore and I was crawling through the swamp looking for you and I didn’t know where you were and you said I’d tricked you into liking me, and I… _I…”_

Again she saw the eyes drift under heavy lids as a halo of blood swirled in the water. Goosebumps flowed down her limbs and she began to shiver against him. _“I killed you.”_

Mihawk chuckled and wrapped the blanket around them both. “Kukkuku, is that so? Well, I suppose we can judge it not to be a premonition! Darling, surely you realize that’s impossible.”

“But I couldn’t stop myself! I killed you and there was nothing I could do to bring you back!” she wheezed. “I killed you because I’m a monster who doesn’t know how to _not_ kill people! And you were lying there, and the water, and Dmitri—” she bawled into his chest, still reeling from the emotions that had felt so real.

“My love,” he whispered, “I won’t hear such rubbish. Eh, besides, multitudes upon multitudes aspire to defeat me. It’s a fine ambition.”

 _“So? I don’t want to! I don’t want to be without you. And I don’t want to risk hurting you.”_ She sniffled and began to wipe at her tears, suddenly embarrassed at being this unsettled over a dream.

A whistley sigh escaped him as he picked the strands from her face. “Kasumi, you’re not going to hurt me. I can foresee your attacks from miles away. Perhaps I’ve been too easy on you…” he mused. He kissed her sticky lips and drew a finger along her jawline.

“But what if I lose control? What if I do something stupid without thinking? What if I—” she asked shakily.

“If an incident such as that comes to pass, then I’m perfectly capable of disarming and restraining you until your... senses recover.” His eyes bored into hers. “There’s nothing you can do to hurt me. The strike you landed on me was a… warning from the fates that I was wrong to neglect my sentiments concerning you. There’s no chance my guard will be lowered again.” He squeezed her even more tightly against him, wicking the sweat from her flannel nightgown into his jinbei.

“But what if I did something really awful? What if I burned down the castle or chopped all the humandrills to bits or sank your boat?”

“Those actions would be most unpleasant,” he kissed the apple of her cheek and smiled, “but you’re my rabbit.”

She felt like she might melt in his arms. _HIS_ rabbit. Not just _THE_ rabbit. Mihawk, who had so few possessions, who kept so few relationships, whose only constant companions were wine, poems, and swords, he wanted her to be his! Her heart almost skipped a beat at the thought.

But… then again, she belonged to no one!

“YOUR rabbit?”

“Yes, dear, I think of you as mine. Do you not see me as yours?” He sighed heavily, weary of the rabbit’s fangs. “Shikkearu, I call you mine not to possess you, but to underscore our complementary natures… You’re my rabbit; I’m your Taka no Me.”

Kasumi lowered her gaze at him and unraveled her pouted lips. _“I’m sorry. I’m a little jumpy about the idea of belonging to someone.”_

“What about belonging _with_ someone?”

“Mm hm hm,” she laughed, “Are you sure you want me? I’m kind of a mess right now.”

“You’re just exhausted from our time at sea,” he told her matter-of-factly, “Wracked with both self-doubt and overconfidence, it seems. Relax.”

“Then will you fight me for real?” she asked, “So you can prove that I can’t hurt you?” She desperately wanted to force him to agree, but her nightmare had spoken a truth she’d known from the beginning: if she manipulated him, then she’d never know how he truly felt about her.

He lay down and pulled her in, pressing every bit of her flesh from her knees to her forehead against his body. “No, imo, there’s no chance. You simply must trust my word.” Mihawk felt his esophagus wring up a bit of wine at the thought. Fighting her at his fullest? Unfathomable! Even the first day, when he’d been fully intent on pushing the humandrill-girl to the brink, he’d still only exercised only a fraction of his strength. Certainly, he had an inclination toward fighting, but the idea of striking Kasumi with all his might was plainly disgusting.

“Rabbit, you may attack me all you wish to satisfy your curiosity—within the confines of training, of course,” he quickly added, “but my absolute strength is reserved for foes much more loathsome than you…” His pupils opened wide in the darkness as he beamed his gaze into her own. “You’ll only need to… place confidence in my word. Darling,” he purred, “you can’t harm me.”  

Clenching her arms around him in the dark, she settled into a position that allowed her a pocket of fresh air near his collarbone.

Kasumi desperately wanted to believe him.

\----

In the morning, she awoke with his hand on her ribcage, his thumb stroking unconsciously along her bustline. The sun was rising, and the island was covered in an icy slush that turned each window into a luminous chime.

“Mihawk?” She raised her chin to run her hand along his unshaven face, which relaxed easily in her grasp.

“Mmm, rabbit,” he smacked, “Is it today already? What new adventures await us?” Suddenly perceiving the location of his hand, he snaked it across her waist instead while casually moving his loins out of reach. Early morning and late at night were the most tempting occasions for him, but the time wasn’t right yet. Everything would need to be perfectly set into place before he could begin to think of participating in… that _._ It needed to be planned, deliberate, flawlessly scored, to create an ideal precedent for their relationship. He couldn’t rely on spontaneity and whims; he was going to do this right.

Kasumi slid her hand over his temple and buried it into his scruffy hair. “Adventures? I don’t know. But I was thinking we could begin working on the humandrill houses today, as long as the sleet holds off. I’m sure they’d appreciate a place to warm themselves when it’s like this outside.”

The left side of his mouth curved into a smirk as he kissed her between phrases:

     Savage guardian

     of savages in return,

     Thy heart betrays thy nature.

She pressed her grin against his. “You don’t want to hear this, but you’re cute, you know?”

“Humph!” he balked, “I’m not! Only you can say that. I’m quite terrifying. Disturbingly sinister. Horrifyingly vicious. Utterly macabre.”

She dove into his eyes with hers and kissed him forcefully, holding him there until he was nearly out of breath. “I’m vicious, too.”

Mihawk laughed and asked her what was so vicious about cavorting with monkeys. She tried to toss a pillow at him, but he had already zipped over the freezing stone floor to the closet.

Preparing for a day of outdoor construction, he chose a black sweater to wear over a plain white shirt. With his unkempt hair and tall socks, Kasumi thought he looked like a perfect mischievous schoolboy. She chose a pair of heavy canvas pants and three lightweight shirts under the gray sweater she’d made from the yarn Odette had sent.

After a quick breakfast, Mihawk gathered supplies while Kasumi went to explain the situation to the humandrills. The animals kept their distance while the two began to organize the worksite.

She’d taken the time to show him a written sketch during breakfast, but it quickly became apparent that he was a nightmare to work with. He’d start making panels or screwing brackets, then forget what he was doing and create a pile of unnecessary pieces that didn’t fit the plan. Every time, Kasumi would scold him and review the process, but within a few minutes he’d look up again at her with self-satisfaction, as if to say “Isn’t this fun?!” while he crafted a new stack of unneeded materials.

By the time they’d erected the fourth structure, she felt like he’d finally gotten the hang of it. “Did you really make your boat yourself?” she teased, “Did it take you a thousand years?”

“There were several prototypes,” he admitted. “But, once perfected, a vessel might live on in perpetuity, especially if it was well-cared for.” He met her at the apex as they fastened the final roof panel. “Blunders are inevitable, I suppose… I plan to have as few as possible when it comes to you and I.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ah, there’s a reason my mind has been elsewhere today.”

Her lips curled into a devilish smile. _“What’s that?”_ she asked, tucking her frozen fingertips into his waistband.

Mihawk stiffened and cleared his throat, “Eh, Shikkearu,” he blushed, “there are some… practical matters… to which we must attend… before the path is traversed even further… to ensure the most fruitful and joyous outcome of which we might…”

_“Mihawk, just say it.”_

“Eh, do you find... that there exist any… precautions… that you deem necessary to… secure… the most… efficacious… relations between the two of us?”

Kasumi stared at him for the longest time. The warmth under his sweater gave her the slightest reprieve from the chill, but she was beginning to lose the feeling in her feet and she really wanted to wrap up the project quickly. “Mihawk, what are you even trying to say?”

His flushed face tingled in the chill while he struggled to phrase the question more delicately: “You and I shall, if the fates allow it, spend many more years together in which we may find ourselves in a position to, at the proper time, expand our…”

“OH! Mm hm hm!” she laughed, “There’s a pill I take. I’ve taken it since I was 13 to, you know, keep my cycle regular. Lots of girls do.” She squeezed his bony hip against her thumb. “You know, you really should be more comfortable talking about it if you want to go that far.”

He took her hand and jumped down to the icy ground while the baboons began to inspect their work. Four sturdy shelters had been built among the existing trees, offering a welcome windbreak and cover from the ever-present precipitation.

“Truly, princess,” he explained as he gathered up the leftover supplies, “it’s not discomfort with the matter at hand. I only wish that… the initial encounter might be as entirely unmarred by difficulty as is within my control. Surely our future will be founded upon… the very moments in which we direct our course, and the precedent set will either mar or nurture our garden.”

Kasumi burst into laughter. “Mihawk, seriously?”

“Eh, princess?” he asked sincerely.

She began trudging back toward the castle as the light grew thin. “It’s not like it will only happen once. It’s more like a letter that we write to each other at the same time. We can change things. Nothing’s final. Relax.” Her own words sounded to her like advice from one of those women’s magazines she used to find in Odette’s bathroom.

Flying to catch up with her, he enveloped her smaller hands in his palms and brought the bundle to his lips. “Is it wrong to pursue the ideal? That we two might be perfectly paired? As harmonious as swans? As faithful as eagles? Complimentary as the swallows? Hime-kun, each hummingbird longs to taste the sweet nectar from which it was long deprived, and once having sampled, would return endlessly only to pursue the delectation of its ancient fancy.”

A shiver raced up her left calf to her heart. “Mihawk, of course there’s nothing wrong with it,” she murmured as she hopped over a frozen root, “Just don’t get too, um, caught up in believing that everything will always be perfect, because I’m sure we’ll have some difficulties, just you know, in general…”

Sweeping ahead of her, he walked backwards along the drawbridge and agreed, “Yes, of course! We’ll have tragic and passionate misunderstandings from which we’ll recover by the power of the strength of our devotion and amity—” He quickly stopped himself upon seeing that one side of her face was drawn up skeptically.  

“Ah… apologies. Perhaps I spoke too much. Shikkearu,” he spoke in the low beams of the afternoon light, “my desires are met in you. I only wish… to engage with you properly. In opposition to so many who... squander the blessings of the fates by conducting themselves with less than full devotion.”

He left her in the castle entryway and excused himself to return the tools to the shed. Kasumi gave a sly smile as she pulled off her boots. “Quite terrifying. Disturbingly sinister. Horrifyingly vicious. Utterly macabre.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is going to be sex. No, it won’t be smutty. I can’t write smut anyway XD
> 
> Ch 29 tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/182379950246/ch-29


	30. Shelter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: light smut

Drained from a long day’s work building humandrill shelters in the frost-bound swamp, the two sat down to warm up and recover over a bowl of stew and Chianti. Mihawk dried the final bowl and turned to kiss her as she placed it in the cabinet. Her head jerked back the instant her lips found a field of cacti under his nose.

“You’ve been lazy about shaving!” she ribbed, “You must be getting cold!”

“Not lazy,” he replied, “I have intentions for it.”

Kasumi closed the cabinet and stared at him in surprise. “What intentions? A mustache?! Like an old man?? Are you sure?”

“No!” he scoffed, “Not like an old man! …Like a gentleman of distinction.”

Mihawk scraped his fingernail over the stubble and imagined himself with a sharp-angled waxed mustache and a clean stripe along his jawline, perhaps with a stripe extending to the prominence of his bottom lip… The chiding from Sengoku; the casual impudence from the challenger-boy at the hotel; Kasumi’s reluctance to hear his advice—all of these might be tempered if he only looked a bit more imposing. More dignified. More _experienced._

He jutted his chin into the air and asked defensively, “Would you have me forever be a child?”

A thumb and forefinger pinched his cheek. _“I_ don’t have a mustache. Am _I_ a child?”

He smirked and slid his hand over hers. “If you find that you truly dislike it…”

“No, no, no, it’s YOUR face,” she countered, “I’ll give it a chance. Just, just keep the sideburns, whatever you do.” She ran her finger along the outline of the triangles that jutted from the apex of his jaw, realizing for the first time that she’d actually made a friend she could know for many years to come.

Would she still know him when his sideburns were speckled with silver? When his eyes crinkled in the sunlight? Or when gravity tugged at the immobile ropes of muscle that banded every inch of his current form? More and more the past few weeks, she’d perceived that _he_ wanted that life. Something about building the shelters with him today had ignited a tiny knot of panic in her stomach: Permanence. Domesticity. Security. His little speech on the drawbridge had only pulled the knot more tightly.

Kasumi’s mind was rent by the implication; Although she had no qualms about being with him—and was madly in love with him!—her dream had touched a nerve. Though it was unlikely that she would accidentally kill him, she was certain she’d find a way to ruin this happiness, the way she was bound to do.    

Mihawk’s silhouette disappeared down the wine cellar stairs while she wet a dishtowel and sighed. Until that awful day came, her current situation left her in nothing less than a constant state of near-euphoria! A handsome swordsman, a loving companion, a dashing sensei, a doting boyfriend, and a fellow drifter to whom she could cling—and who would cling fiercely to her in return. She wiped down the table with a shy grin; she was living and training with the crème de la crème of swordfighters! And they were a couple! For now, at least, everything was perfect.

Plodding footsteps announced Mihawk’s ascent up the staircase at the far end of the kitchen. He emerged bearing an armful of bottles and a heavy resolution: He was going to speak to her. Tonight. Regarding his intentions. And his emotions. To speak past the most uncomfortable moments. He needed to be an adult about this.

He gripped her fingertips in his palm and tugged at her hand with a shy expression until she followed him to the great room, bound for an evening of Beaujolais and newspaper puzzles. At his hand’s embrace, she perceived an unfamiliar timidity—was he _really_ going to make his move tonight? He’d been teasing her for so long now!

In her previous relationships, the princess had always been the one directing the sequence of events, but with him, it was far more fun to watch him squirm. It was obvious that he wanted to plan the perfect night, and he was adorably awkward in his attempts. He was clearly out of his comfort zone; Mihawk was a person things happened to, not a person who caused things to happen!

Kasumi followed him to the sofa and melted into his arms, trying to imagine him with a mustache and beard. Why was he trying to be so mature all of a sudden?

“Mihawk?”

“Hm?” he murmured as he parked his feet on the table and poured them each a tall glass.

“I feel like…” she stopped herself mid-thought and redirected the conversation, “I wonder if the monkeys will stay in their shelters. Maybe they won’t be so afraid of you now. Do you think they understood what I meant about sharing the raincoats?”

Mihawk snatched up a newspaper and cleared his throat. “They’re animals. They’re sure to seek warmth and comfort.” The fireplace spat an ember onto the floor, where it blazed briefly before dissolving into a black crumb. “Animals always seek the easiest route.”

His pen glided over the expectant boxes of the day’s puzzles like a feather duster. Within a few minutes, he’d completed the tasks and sat back with an air of satisfaction. No mistakes. Splendid.

As he capped the pen, he noticed that the princess’ hands were clenched onto the half-page of the latest serialization of that maudlin love story—The one about Consort Yu, who loved a great warlord but foolishly sacrificed herself at the moment he needed her most.* She folded the newspaper and sighed, anxious for next week’s installment.

“Shikkearu, you realize that tale is entirely preposterous and even… contemptible in its depiction of romance and true devotion, not to mention the short-sighted expectations of the protagonists…” he teased as he poured them each another serving.

“Aw!” she scolded, “Why can’t you just let me enjoy my story? I want to see how it ends!”

He wedged the cork into the bottle’s neck and then took a long drink from his glass. “You’re not going to be pleased with the conclusion… I believe you may even detest it.”

“Is that right?” she demanded.

“I said it.”

“Well! Who put you in charge of what I like and don’t like?”

His head angled to the right with sincere innocence as he offered, “I only… wish for you to be happy.”

At that moment, Kasumi saw in him the same roguish charm she’d known the night he’d demonstrated his knife tricks while barely containing his delight. Were she with any other guy, that look would have struck her as cunning or scheming, like the smile of a man who asks for help while looking down her blouse. But Mihawk seemed to lack the self-awareness needed to pull off such deception. His expressions were always sincere, even when they were entirely blank! For him to wear a false smile was nearly as impossible as for him to have a false bout.

She smiled tightly and slung her legs into his lap. _“You do make me happy.”_

Within an instant, he was reclined beside her, sinking those scarlet eyes into her own. His breath briefly caught in his chest: “Might you permit me to do so for a very long while?”

“Miho—” she started. Suddenly the words gushed out of her like air from a pierced balloon. “I’m really happy with you, and I want to be with you, and I’m so glad we’re friends, and I don’t ever want to be apart from you, and I really like everything about you, but—”

“But?”

_“I’ll fuck things up before too long.”_

“Oh,” he said, staring at her shoulder, “I assumed you felt the same way I do…”

“I do!” she blurted, “I love you!” Kasumi’s face tightened with the realization that she’d spouted the three magic words. “I’m just scared.”

“Of me?”

His assumption brought a brief smile back to her face. “No, not of you, ani. Of me. Of ruining everything.”

He drew her chin toward him with his finger and asked, “Is this about your dream, then?”

“I guess.” 

His arm snaked around her and brought his glass to his lips before he began. “Dear rabbit, true… devotion to affection entails concession to the tacit agreement that, despite the tempests of mortal imperfection, both parties are bound to one another by the profound… magnetism of providence…” He raked his fingers through her hair and twisted a lock around his finger. “We two could have only been drawn together by the strings of destiny.”

“Taka no Me,” she whispered, “But what if—”

“Why should the false specter of a doomed tomorrow determine your emotions tonight? Let the future bring what it may.” He drew in a quick breath and held it until it was unbearable. “Eh, can you trust me to fully hold the weight of your heart as you hold mine?”

Kasumi grit her teeth and leaned into his collarbone; it felt like a burden made of lead had escaped from her chest. What he’d said was true. Even if things went wrong. Even if they argued, or fought, or were far apart, or she made mistakes, their bond was unmistakable.

“Yes,” she murmured, “it’s just, this got serious so quickly! Sometimes I wonder if this is even real!”

After taking a long sip, he closed his eyes and answered, “Reality is difficult to determine, hime-kun. More importantly, is it sincere and heartfelt?”

She pushed back against the sofa and wiggled into a sitting position as she laughed, “Well, don’t forget that you tried to kill me not too long ago! And I wanted to kill you, too!”

The perception of his heart dropping into his belly rushed through her mind. She gazed down at his head in her lap while he stared into the fire. Why was he so easy to read lately?

Mihawk’s throat clenched as hard as his brow as he began. “I’m… I… er, we were both conducting ourselves selfishly on a direct path that would have bypassed the exquisite delights of a more difficult trek. Now that we… find ourselves on the current route, should we not commit to traversing it fully hand-in-hand?”

She blurted it out without thinking: “Are you asking me to marry you?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said quickly. “You’re a royal. Furthermore, your association with me has caused you enough strife already. But, eh, might you allow me to be your companion? For a long while?”   

Kasumi met his eyes and gave a hesitant smile. _“Do you really think it will last?”_

He looked up at her and smirked, “Little fencer, haven’t you learned to trust your gut?

She squeezed his shoulders and leaned back. Content with the state of affairs between them, they enjoyed the remainder of the evening in near-silent bliss as the wine gradually disappeared. She waited all night to see if he would initiate anything interesting, but he fell asleep as soon as he hit the pillow, exhausted from the day’s physical and mental efforts.

The next morning she was awakened by the smells of breakfast and found him already hard at work in the kitchen. A grouping of delicate brown flowers was arranged in a champagne glass before her seat at the table. She ran her fingers over the strange petals, so thin as to be nearly transparent, soft and smooth, but hard… like wood?

“Mihawk? What are these?”

“Ah, there were no fresh flowers available due to the inhospitable weather, so I fashioned some for you. Do they please you, hime-kun?”

“Yes, of course!” she answered, beaming with excitement, “You carved these?! I’ve never seen anything like them!”

“Excellent. Eat up, then. We’ve been too long out of the training room.”

After breakfast, he pushed her to her limits with a Khanda sword he called the Diamond of Wisdom while reviewing her performance against the Henri-imposter pirates. The sparring room was frigid, and her breath made clouds in the air with each pant while goosebumps traveled over her sweaty arms.

Again and again, he repeated the drill: a series of strikes to the shoulders, followed by a feint and a very slight retreat, during which the rabbit had a fine opportunity to charge into an opening.

“No, Shikkearu,” he mumbled for what must have been the tenth time, “You’re still missing it. If your opponent hesitates, why should you follow them? Strike at the instant you see them waver. Again.”

He resumed the sequence and grimaced when she took a half-hearted stab at him during her window of opportunity. Seizing her wrist with his enormous hand, he jerked her in close to him.

“What?!” she huffed, knowing full well what the problem must be.

“You. You’re holding back. What **IS** it?” He suddenly realized that his grasp was tighter than he intended it to be and let her hand slip through his palm until their fingers intertwined. “Dear?”

She bit her lip and looked away. _“I want to fight like I did the other day. I want to cut someone to noodles.”_

His laugh echoed off the stones and rang against the heaps of swords piled along each wall, “Wa ha ha ha! Bloodthirsty little rabbit! Don’t neglect your technique in favor of your… appetite for violence. You want to test your limits? I’m here.”

She brought Fuchi around from her hip to meet his blade in a satisfying clang. He held his ground and parried each blow with good-natured reciprocity.

 _“It’s no fun to fight you,”_ she told him between strikes, _“because I can’t get a hit,”_ she heaved, _“and I don’t want to get a hit, ugh, and you just sit there with that look on your face, like you think I’m cute. I want to make you sweat!”_ Fuchi whistled in front of his face, and he caught her blow easily before disengaging her.

Mihawk’s amused expression dropped and he shot her a smoldering gaze. “Ah, Shikkearu… you’re far from causing me concern… but if you’d like to make me sweat... –eh, later tonight, that is— I feel certain there’s a way…”

The remainder of Kasumi’s training was a blur. Weights? Speed drills? Sit ups? Her body was numb to all but the fluttering feeling under her sternum. Mihawk had turned and exited to the patio after his final repartee, suffocating his passion with the freezing air before it could ignite. She watched him strain at his dumbbells, watched how his torso moved to direct the motion of his arms, how his neck flexed when he reached overhead. So he was finally going to make his move tonight?

She nearly skipped up the staircase after training to her bath while Mihawk lay on the chaise in the study for his nap. After a shower with special attention to her feet, knees, and elbows, she relaxed in the tub with a towel steaming her face. Sex was… sex, of course, but the prospect of feeling his skin against hers made her positively giddy in a way that she hadn’t felt before. She picked up a poetry book that was resting on the tub ledge and flipped through it, savoring a few that sent shivers along the surface of her flesh.

She finished her bath, put her best underclothes under her usual tank top, sweater, and canvas pants, and returned to meet him for a lunch of leftover stew and rice. He pecked at the apex of her cheek before sitting across from her with a flat, observant expression.

“Hime-kun, it was not my intention to suggest that you might be obliged to engage in—”

Kasumi’s head swung backwards with a carefree laugh. “You know good and well that I’ve been waiting! That night? At the hotel? Or a while back when you fell asleep with your hand on my— Well, you know, it’s not like I’ve been shy about it.”

After assuring him that she’d inform him of any change in her consent, she finished her meal and packed a container of stew and bowls for the humandrills. She was eager to see if they’d used their new facilities and raincoats; the island was nearing the peak of its cold season, and although she was sure they could get along fine without her help, it seemed cruel to let them suffer needlessly.

Takeo and Choco-chan met her at the entrance to the woods, each holding a small bundle. She dispensed the stew quickly and then opened the leaf-wrapped gifts to find a brightly-colored dead butterfly and an old medallion. _“Thank you!”_ she gushed, _“I’m so happy that you all are… are still here in the swamp. Let’s always be friends.”_

Everything she needed was on the island; this was her home. It had always been her home! The island belonged to her, and she to it. As the reigning Queen of Kuraigana, she owed the monkeys her eternal gratitude for all they’d done to keep it safe!

Once the bowls were licked clean, she returned to the castle, with a momentary thought that she needed to refrain from informing Mihawk that a monkey’s tongue had ever touched one of his bowls. She enjoyed an afternoon nap in front of the fireplace and was awakened by a soft, flat voice.

“Shikkearu… eh, rabbit… It’s dinner. I hope it’s not too early, but the dishes were completed and I reasoned that you’d rather dine prematurely than suffer though a… pointlessly overcooked meal.”

Kasumi joined him in the formal dining room, smiling as her mind replayed the course of the last few days in anticipation of what was yet to come. Mihawk certainly knew how to live in the moment! Before her lay a meal that recalled the flavors of their first dinner together, plated with a formal, refined elegance outclassing even his usual flair for the dramatic. Tiny dishes held bite-sized vegetables carved into rosettes, pickles shaped into her family crest, and a variety of condiments. _Moules marinières,_ oysters with _mignonette_ sauce, and a bowl of sautéed noodles were positioned in front of her, along with the wooden flowers from this morning and a tall empty glass.

“I see you had the pleasure of making noodles,” she teased, “while some people just wish for it.”

His lips curled upward as he poured them each a serving of champagne. “I merely felt inspired by your suggestion. It’s not often I have the opportunity to entertain guests…”

“Where have I heard that before?” she teased. They ate in quiet contentment, save for Kasumi’s compliments on each item and Mihawk’s fretting over the candle that dripped onto the satin table runner. Dinner was capped with a dramatic dessert of canned peaches flambé, after which Mihawk excused himself. He returned in an instant carrying both of their boots and heavy coats.

A tug at her hand lifted her from her chair. “Rabbit, won’t you accompany me?”

“To where?” she asked coyly.

“Eh, to the roof, if you will. For… sentiment’s sake?”

Thinking back to the evening she’d spent with him the last time he’d brought her to the roof, she eagerly followed him to see what would happen next. He was sure to have planned something wonderful, something thoughtful, even if it was just a simple evening of visiting the rooftop and then sitting next to the fireplace.  

The castle roof was covered in a thick lacquer of ice, and the air was cold enough to steal her breath as soon as she poked her head outside. He offered her his elbow as they made their way to the far wall to look out over the ocean.

Kasumi clung to him—for warmth, for comfort, for stability on the ice? Perhaps just to be as close as possible to him while knowing that they were the only people around for miles and miles.

“Why did you bring me up here?”

“Because, ah, this place is… the location of… my first realization of my affections for you…”

She squeezed his hand and rolled into his arms. “Oh, during the meteor shower? I didn’t know you were so sweet until then.”

“Eh, no,” he hesitated, “‘twas when you were crouched in an empty cistern, flinging water at me. Brazen little rabbit, working yourself to exhaustion out of spite... with a mouth full of nettles. A firecracker under guise of a princess! How I wished to silence you with my lips.”

She leaned into his chest and tucked her arms under his coat. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

“I suppose not,” he mumbled.

The freezing fog reflected the violet-black hues of the Kuraigana night, and the air was still and silent. Every animal on the island had settled into shelter for the night, lulled to sleep by the slapping of waves into the mangrove. Time barely seemed to pass at all while the two huddled together on the rooftop. No future mistakes, or nagging self-doubts, or practical questions interrupted the bliss of living in **this** moment with each other, together.

“Hime-kun, I’m glad you came back to this place.”

“Me too. I’m happy… but cold!”

“Yes, quite cold. Shall we, then?” he asked, gesturing to the bedroom balcony.

She leapt down and opened the door; the room looked somehow different, but it was too dark to make out what had changed. Mihawk flashed around with imperceptible speed, and gradually the room came to life as he lit a series of candles and started a roaring fire in the hearth.

Kasumi stood shivering in front of the fireplace while she marveled at the scene he’d set: tall iron candelabras held dozens of mismatched candles; the bed had been turned down to reveal crimson silk sheets; a pitcher of water and glasses sat on the nightstand. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw the wines lined up on the dresser, some opened just a bit to breathe, others fully decanted, and some bearing the yellowed labels that she’d seen in back of the wine cellar, the place where he put the wine he’d told her never to open.

He caught her just as she was removing her boots. “Dear, perhaps I can interest you in a warm bath?”

“Did you get me cold so I’d take a bath with you?” she smirked.

“Eh… I’m not that clever. But it does seem like a fine idea, no?”

He gave her time to settle into the tub before joining her with his arms full of towels, wine, candles, and nightclothes for both of them. As he rinsed off with the shower, she tried not to stare, but it was difficult to pry her eyes away from him. His body was so perfect! She’d had enough clues from his silhouette to guess at his figure, but seeing him completely nude and vulnerable was a entirely different sensation.

He turned and she snapped her eyes back to the water as he crossed the room. Finally, he slid into the round tub with her, poured them each a glass, and began working his hands over the princess’ back.  

A sigh escaped without her permission; she hadn’t had her back rubbed in… years? His hands were surprisingly gentle despite their strength as they worked their way around her back and spine, with tender attention to her clicking right shoulder. After all the strain and suffering he’d caused her body, feeling him smooth over her muscles and skin left her moonstruck in a dreamy haze. His fingers traced the lines of a few of her deeper scars.

“Hime-kun, what was this injury?” he asked when he reached the jagged Z-shape that marked her scapula.

“Oh, is that still there?” she laughed, “That’s from when I jumped from the roof. I wanted to see if I could use my bedspread as a parachute. I landed on the patio furniture.”

“And this one?”

“A fight with Marius.”

“And this?” he asked as he reached around her side.

“I dunno. Probably sparring with my brother.”

His hand slid over her skin and found a set of dark claw marks in the small of her back. “And this?”

“That’s from when the humandrills decided they’d rather not be ridden like horses.”

Imagining her as a wild, mischievous princess with scabbed knees under her dresses nearly made him smile. “Seems you’ve always been too daring for your own good.”

The water sloshed as she twisted to face him, chiding, “Well, if I hadn’t been, I never would have come back here. And both of us would have fewer scars.”

As soon as the words had left her mouth, she knew she’d ruined the moment.

In an attempt to salvage the mood, she added, “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about it. You and I are fighters; it’s what we do. And fighting was how we got to know each other...” His hand wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her to his chest as she continued. “Besides, now we’re even. Don’t let it bother you.”

How Mihawk wished he could! He’d cut innumerable people over the years—friends, enemies, partners, teachers—and inflicted a few injuries he wished he hadn’t. But those were simple mistakes. The visual reminder of the moment he’d pierced the rabbit’s arm with the bokken, or the barely-visible line on her cheek, or any of the abundant stripes across her ribs, some of which he was certain he’d caused, each welled up in him a hollow feeling he knew would never fade. From now on, all he could do was to treat her well and prevent her from suffering any more wounds, by his blade or others’.

They sat intertwined for a while as steam rose lazily over the tub and condensed on the window at the end of the room. He began to stroke her arm and cleared his throat before reciting the poem he’d chosen for tonight:

> Since our meeting
> 
> Comparing my former heart
> 
> I now think
> 
> I never knew
> 
> A feeling of love before.  *

Kasumi rolled her head up to meet his lips with her own. His powerful hand caressed her chest while her heart pounded wildly beneath. She ran a foot up his leg and giggled when she caught him staring at her with that strange, hyperfocused expression.

“What???”

Mihawk’s eyes snapped back to their usual relaxed state. “Ah, apologies. Your… form is quite…”

She cut him off with kisses. His breath came heavy and wet through flared nostrils, and she felt his body shift with desire as she worked her way near his ear, intoxicated by the smell of pomade and wine. Her lips swept over his skin as she whispered directly into his ear with words lighter than a thread: “I think I’m warmed up now.”

He hopped out of the tub without a splash and brought her towels, a robe, and the dark blue silk nightgown she’d received for her birthday, along with a pair of socks. After slipping on some loose pants, he led her to the bedroom, which was now pleasantly warm and filled with flickering candlelight.

They sat on the bed as he poured them each a glass from a bottle with a yellowed label, which he explained was a _Domaine Jacques et Thierry les Magnifiques Grand Cru_ 1454 from the Walnut Hills region of North Blue. 1454 had been a difficult year, he told her, and many vineyards had lost their crop. Jacques and Thierry had tended their vines by hand, day and night, to prevent mold, temperature variations, and insects from damaging their treasured grapes. The wine they produced that year was prized for its bold, muscular, earthy taste. “Only 300 bottles exist in the world, hime-kun. Now, fifty years later, shall we see what caused such ado?”

Kasumi’s eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect. “What kind of wine is it, again?”

“It’s a pinot noir, dear. Most wines from the Walnut Hills are…” He raised his glass to her and offered a toast “to protecting that which is dear to us.”

She waited to see if he was going to give another of his soliloquies, but instead he encouraged her to sniff and taste the wine right away. She wished she knew what to say, how to speak like a wine connoisseur, or how to impress him with some sophisticated tasting comment, but instead she only managed to smile and say, “It’s good. Thank you.”

They reclined on their sides on the bed, sipping at the wine while they flirted and teased. Mihawk smoothed his hand over her waist and hip and closed in to kiss her. “Ka-su-mi,” he whispered, pronouncing every syllable as he always did on the rare occasions he called her by her first name, “It seems we’ve denied ourselves long enough. Neither… of us knows what tomorrow may bring. Shall we not… delight in the present while it graces us with its golden promise?”

A tremor ran through Kasumi’s body, prickling her skin and tingling her chest. She turned to face him, her expression cool and mischievous despite the excitement rippling through her body. “I’d like that,” she breathed, the words coming out so unexpectedly that she felt her diaphragm strain to expel the final syllables.

He gently squeezed her around the shoulders while leaning over her, causing her to extend her spine and breathe deeply, her sternum rising suddenly with the wave of wine and adrenaline flooding her veins. She’d expected to have more control of herself when this moment eventually arrived, especially since she’d known all day that it would arrive tonight.

His expression bound with desire, his brow wrinkling with the force of his the determination he was so accustomed to calling upon, he pulled her toward him, pressing his dry lips against hers. She blew out a sigh as she drew in his torso, her arms clasped around the reachable span of his back.

She wet his lips with her tongue, briefly breaking the seal between them as she smoothed over the skin of the mouth she’d watched so intently over the past few months, the mouth that produced the emotionless voice that defied the fiery aura she saw now and in those candid moments in the sparring room.

_“Mihawk”_

He gave a soft growl and ran his hand over her muscular curves as she did the same to him. The bed complained as she pressed her shoulders into the mattress and his hips began to grind against hers. Their kisses became quick and frantic, both overwhelmed by unfamiliar pulsing heat.

Kasumi’s mind swooned while she stripped off her clothes. What was she doing?! Just a few months ago, she had been living in the streets of Water Seven incognito, self-sufficient, damn proud of being alone! She hadn't considered the possibility that she’d soon need to juggle her interests with a relationship or another person’s feelings. But, the matter was quite at hand. Her mind and body had quietly been predicting this moment, and it felt so familiar and so right.    

“Ka-su-mi,” he groaned between heaving breaths, “Is it alright? Kindly inform me if there's any aspect which you'd like me to amend… and my intention shall be to…”

She shut his mouth with her own and twisted her ankles around his slender legs. _“Just relax. I'll show you.”_

\----

By the time Kasumi awoke, the sun was nearing its highest point; they’d stayed up until the sunrise, each round more confident and playful than the last. Mihawk had fallen asleep on his stomach with his arm draped over her shoulders, and he softly whistled into her ear with each breath. Her hand flowed over his back, his waist, his hips, pausing there when she realized that she now possessed a surefire method of waking him up.

“Mihawk. Hey, good morning, you.”

He blinked and smacked while offering her a sleepy smile. “Mm. Good morning, rabbit. Seems it’s no longer morning.” He looked at her through half-closed eyes and let his mind wander back to the events of last night. “Did you sleep well?”

“Of course,” she answered, “And I have a poem for you.”

The verses she’d read in the bath yesterday flowed out of her mouth with perfect poise:

> You came?
> 
> I went?
> 
> I don’t know.
> 
> Dream or reality?
> 
> Asleep or awake?  *

Mihawk’s eyes opened wide and a sly smirk appeared on his lips before he replied:

> Shadows
> 
> On my heart
> 
> Keep me in the dark.
> 
> Dream or reality?
> 
> Let other people determine that.  *

They locked eyes for a long while, and the words seemed to spill out of her without a conscious thought: “I love you.”

He smiled tightly and stared back at her.

She reassured him as she pushed a wayward clump of hair behind his ear. _“I know it’s hard for you to say it back. It’s okay. I can feel that you love me. But I hope it doesn’t bother you if I say it.”_

“Not at all,” he grinned.

Despite their late start on the day, they attempted to follow their usual schedule but found themselves thwarted at every turn by this new, exhilarating development. The sparring room, the parlor, even the kitchen were now convenient locations to repeat last night’s delightful activities, and there was no reason to deny themselves any longer. They were making up for lost time, and it seemed that the remainder of the day slipped away from them as quickly as the winter sunlight.

That night, Kasumi lay with her head on his chest, still panting from their latest endeavors, while he loosely clenched at her tousled hair. “Tomorrow’s the day, remember?”

“Hm?” he asked, dumb with endorphins and exhaustion.

“It’s been two weeks. It’s time to go get my clothes from Paola.”

“Has it now?” mused the Shichibukai, who kept neither clocks nor calendars.

She steeled her nerves and shared the thought she’d been holding onto. “I can go by myself. I want to see if I can sail it alone.”

Mihawk’s chest stiffened. “Absolutely not. There’s no reason for it… And what would I do… all the day apart from you?”

 _“I just wanted to try it on my own,”_ she offered.

“We’ll go together, rabbit. Together.”

\----

The weather grew sunny and warm as the coffin boat left the winter of Kuraigana for the sunny open sea. Kasumi sat behind him hiding from the wind, wondering if Paola would notice the mark he’d left on her neck. She’d been a bit surprised at how quickly he overcame his initial nervousness and formality; it seemed like he became more confident with every encounter.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she’d asked him following an explosion of passion that left her seeing stars.

“Eh… I’ve read my share of one-handed books,” he’d admitted. Kasumi giggled and wondered aloud if she’d read the same titles as he.

They seemed so perfectly suited for one another! And they were still so young and free! She found herself daydreaming about the rest of her life with him. Perhaps someday she’d even be strong enough to take him in a fight!

The boat arrived at the usual secluded cove on Water Seven, and Mihawk walked her to the edge of town. “Hime-kun, perhaps it’s more prudent that I fetch the groceries while you retrieve your clothes. In that way… we can return sooner… and find ourselves alone again…”

She agreed and headed for the tailor shop, entering through the front door this time.

“Why hello, young lady! So nice to see you again!” gushed Paola, while an exhausted man put the finishing touches on her evening gown. “Please, wait here just a moment. I want you to try on a few things, just to make sure.”

Each garment fit her perfectly, with impeccable seams and darts in all the right places. Mihawk wasn’t lying: these people **_were_** fine tailors. Even the simple summer dresses she’d ordered were crafted with such care that she felt almost as if she were a princess living in the old castle once again. The violet and white gown was more than she could have hoped for, and she took a twirl in front of the mirror to watch it flow around her legs. What a shame that she had no place to wear it!

Paola packed up her new wardrobe in a few large sacks, warning her to let the dress out to breathe as soon as she got home. Kasumi thanked her profusely and promised to return for anything else she needed.

The princess left the shop and headed uphill toward an old warehouse she knew would provide her enough privacy to complete her plan. After stashing the sacks on the rooftop, she tightened her ponytail, secured Fuchi at her side, and departed. If she was quick, she’d be able to make it back to the boat without Mihawk suspecting a thing.

She slunk along the back alleys of Water Seven, cruising for a target to satisfy the urge. Before long, she found herself in a dark saloon populated by greasy pirates and women who hoped to entertain them for a fee. Flipping though the newspaper on the table, a bounty poster caught her eye. Spiky blue hair, half-moon scar on the right cheek… Her eyes darted back and forth between the poster and the man laughing with the bartender. What luck! It was decided: Once she’d completed this, Mihawk would have to acknowledge her strength. Maybe he’d even let her sail on her own next time! She slid up next to the wanted man and asked him if he’d like another round.

Mihawk loaded the groceries into the boat and waited. Surely the rabbit was taking her time trying on each garment, perhaps ordering more clothes or sifting through fine fabrics. He sat down in the boat and closed his eyes, imagining how she’d appear before him laden with the bags of new clothes and a cheerful grin.

He awoke. It was dark. The rabbit was nowhere to be seen, and the area around his boat was undisturbed. A deep ache cried out just under his chest. Where was she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * the serialized story Kasumi was reading in the newspaper was the story of Consort Yu and Xiang Yu https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Consort_Yu 
> 
> Notes for Waka poems in this chapter:
> 
> Mihawk’s first poem is by Fujiwara no Atsutada. The translation is mine.  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fujiwara_no_Atsutada  
> http://www.wakapoetry.net/sis-xii-710/  
> 逢ひ見ての後の心にくらぶれば昔は物 も思はざりけり  
> Since our meeting  
> Comparing my former heart  
> I now think  
> I never knew  
> A feeling of love before 
> 
> The second and third poems in this chapter were written as a pair. The first is from an anonymous shrine priestess who is asking the famous love poet Narihira basically, “Did last night really happen?” His reply is quite Mihawk-like! (Translations are mine.)
> 
> 君や來し我や行きけむ思ほえず夢かうつつか寢てかさめてか  
> You came?  
> I went?  
> I don’t know.  
> Dream or reality?  
> Asleep or awake?  
> http://www.wakapoetry.net/kks-xiii-645/
> 
> かきくらす心のやみにまどひにき夢うつつとは世人さだめよ  
> Shadows  
> On my heart  
> Keep me in the dark.  
> Dream or reality?  
> Let other people determine that.  
> http://www.wakapoetry.net/kks-xiii-646/
> 
> \-------  
> Chapter 30's tumblr post: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/182545647036/ch-30  
> Chapter 30's Mihawk's Wine Selections: https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/post/182570958761/ch-30-mws
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you all for letting me string you along for 30 chapters! I know it’s not the best, but it makes me so giddy to know that someone out there likes what I’ve written! [currently twisting like embarrassed Chopper]
> 
> I’ve decided to break this story into parts, with Ch 30 concluding Part 1. Before I move on, I’d like to take a bit of time to clean up some things I’m not happy with in some earlier chapters, (nothing plot-changing, just some wording and expanding on things a bit more, and a some changes to make Rayleigh’s life match the canon Roger timeline). As a teaser, I’ll tell you that Part 2 will have more flashbacks to Mihawk’s childhood and training, while Kasumi’s telepathy strengthens as Mihawk struggles with his instinct to protect her. (2-3-2019: DONE!)
> 
> I’m aware that if you want to nitpick the timeline, there are a few discrepancies with canon, e.g., when Rayleigh met Shakky, but I’m chalking them up to Oda not being specific enough. XD The recent release of Mihawk’s vivre card also states that he only has Armament and Observation haki, so that pokes a hole in my story, too. Oh well, I’m leaving it. Mihawk has all three kinds and is also Yonko level. So there.
> 
> For a pic of Mihawk without his mustache, see the Strong World movie, read Chapter 0, or just Google 19 year old Mihawk. Vavavoom!


	31. NOTICE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, the new chapter 31 isn't ready yet, but Chapters 1-30 have been edited and reuploaded. Please check out my tumblr at https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/ and come chat with me! Sorry the editing has taken me longer than I expected. Who knew he would reappear in 925 and cause such a fuss?! The 2nd half of the editing should move more quickly than the first half did. See you all again soon!
> 
> 2-17-19: DONE! I'm not sure if subscribers will get an update, so I'm adding Ch 32 as another notice chapter with a link to Ch 1 of Part 2.

Sorry, the new chapter 31 isn't ready yet, but Chapters 1-30 have been edited and reuploaded. Please check out my tumblr at https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/ and come chat with me! Sorry the editing has taken me longer than I expected. Who knew he would reappear in 925 and cause such a fuss?! The 2nd half of the editing should move more quickly than the first half did. See you all again soon!

2-17-19: DONE! I'm not sure if subscribers will get an update, so I'm adding Ch 32 as another notice chapter with a link to Ch 1 of Part 2.


	32. Continued in Part 2!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!

Hey all! Sorry to leave you hanging for so long! If you missed the Part 1 re-read, here’s what’s new:

Kasumi was now 18 when she came to the island. It works better, gives her more autonomy in choosing to come there, and makes Mihawk less of a creeper, though I’ll have you know he could never imagine laying a hand on a girl of 17. He’s a dummy, not a skeeze. I really wanted her to celebrate her 18th bday on the island, but it just didn’t work for me. Less squick, more swords.

Ch 22 “So Quick Bright Things…” has a Mihawk flashback you might want to check out and the entire chapter makes a lot more sense now.

Ch 26, 27, and 28 include a few more backstory details that may or may not influence your opinion of the characters, and I think the entire saga of Kasumi’s first trip on the GL with Mihawk is much better this time around.

I’ve tried to tone down Mihawk’s ellipsis use… because… he has to think of what he wants to say sometimes… but that doesn’t mean that it always reads like I wish it would… Plus… ellipses get… annoying after a while… that’s all.

The inhabitants of tumblr have let me establish a lean-to on the outskirts of town and occasionally they seem to accept me as one of their own. Visit me at <https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/>  
Chapter-by-Chapter post list is here: [https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/Ttf_Navigation ](https://waskonedo-ttf.tumblr.com/Ttf_Navigation)

Going forward, I plan on working hard to make sure I NEVER HAVE TO DO ANOTHER REWRITE, so what I put out the first round needs to be good enough to stick. I’m not going to set a “write a chapter a week” goal or anything because I think that will sacrifice quality, but I will try harder. Thanks to my beta and my BFF for concrit and encouragement. Comments are welcome here, but please keep your crit gentle.

The farther we get in One Piece toward the abolition of the Shichibukai (and to Zoro realizing his dream) I get nervous about my fic being Jossed or rendered entirely false. I hope it can stand on its own. Someday, I may have to tag it AU, but I suppose I'll have to come to terms with that. 

Please note that I only italicize the first use of words in languages other than English, unless it’s a word that’s easily confused with an English word, (e.g. sake). As a refresher, here’s some terms used in this story:

  * **hime-kun** : Himegimi 姫君 is a proper way to address a high-ranking noble daughter, however, the kanji 君 can also be read as “-kun.” Calling her “hime-kun” is Mihawk’s way of teasing Kasumi a bit. Although -kun is usually used for boys, it can be used for girls in certain business or family situations. In this story, I imagine it as his way of treating her as a lower-status boy, or distancing himself from calling her an equal (-san) or a cute girl (-chan), much like his choice to call Zoro “Roronoa” and Perona “Ghost-Girl.”


  * **imo/ani:** Kasumi calls Mihawk “ani” (兄, brother) as a playful reply to him calling her “imo” (妹, little sister, wife, close female companion). 


  * **Fuchi:** In Japanese, Fuchi ふち, 淵 means “deep pool; depths, abyss,” but ふち can also be written with Kanji as: 縁 edge and chance meeting, fate, karma, destiny; 布置constellation or arrangement; 不治 incurability; 不知 ignorance, or 負値 negative value. In Spanish, fuchi is kind of like the face you make when you don't like something or find it disgusting. I mean to use the Japanese meaning, but the Spanish might be appropriate too, haha!


  * **Waka:** classical Japanese poetry form that generally follows a 5-7-5-7-7 meter https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waka_(poetry)



 

**COME JOIN ME IN PART 2, AND DON'T FORGET TO SUBSCRIBE!**

**<https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834699/chapters/42082946> **


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